


We Can Be Heroes

by Camunki



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Enemies to Lovers, Good guys vs. bad guys, M/M, Secret Identity, Secret Relationship, Shapeshifting, Superheroes, Villains, kurtofsky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-17
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2017-12-23 18:06:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/929488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camunki/pseuds/Camunki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>McKinleyopolis has always had two sides. Kurt (Aka. Porcelain) is a good guy and Dave (Aka. The Fury) is his arch nemesis. It’s that simple… right? </p><p>Kurtofsky, Kurt/Karofsky, Superhero AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Porcelain

**Author's Note:**

> This one's been a long time coming. I'm trying to get back into writing, and where better to start than with my favourite genre? Hope you guys enjoy it! :)

 

 

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**Chapter I - _Porcelain_**

Ever since Porcelain was a child, he knew there was something  _special_  about him…wait, no. Too cliché.

Porcelain never did fit in with his peers – No, too  _newspaper._

Porcelain was a Good Guy.

Yes. That was right. Porcelain was a Good Guy. It was his job to be a Good Guy and he loved every minute of it, down to rescuing the screaming civilians and wrestling with the Bad Guys. He loved to save people, to do Good, to jump in and be the hero.

But that was his day job. At night, Kurt Hummel loved to stick on a film, or go to fancy restaurants with good-looking men and have passionate, yet meaningless one-night stands. It was one of the reasons he took the day shift. A lot of the guys at the Agency worked nights and lived ordinary lives during the day, with real jobs and real relationships and friends. Not Kurt. Kurt had never shied away from the limelight, after all. So what if it meant he could never stick around long in a relationship, just in case the guy finally connected his face with one of the masked ones that always seemed to be in the paper?

It had happened. Quite a few times, actually, but it was okay. Kurt just sucked it up, left, and the next day he was a new face, a new smile, new hair and eye color. Or maybe this week he'd be a busty woman, if he felt particularly horny or he'd exhausted the gay bars. Not like there was a man on earth that would be able to tell the difference. Kurt's gender became more fluid the more in need he was of a good fuck.

The name Porcelain had been a joke, at first. He'd had the unfortunate incident of fighting Sue Sylvester, a villain so evil she didn't even bother with an alias, though occasionally she made people call her  _General Zod_. She'd started calling him Porcelain because he looked so dainty, like he'd break at the slightest touch. Of course, she'd then thrown him off a building, and everyone had marveled as he stood up, scowling, but without a scratch. Being invulnerable had its perks, after all. Since then, Frankenteen, a giant of a guy who was the result of some weird DNA combining experiment, had latched onto the nickname, and it had stuck. Kurt didn't mind too much; he was in the midst of trying to find a name anyway and nothing seemed to describe his primary powers. He'd thought about  _Morph_  and some other variations, but his name choice was as fickle as his continually changing body.

His actual powers also included mimicry and power absorption, and they were just as important as the shapeshifting. He'd obtained the invulnerability from his first boyfriend, a hero called Nightbird from Daltonville who had gone on to join an elite hero force that was a sort of private version of the Good Guys. He'd been a nice guy, and a great hero, but even invulnerability was no good when one of Snixx's psychic razors had accidently caught him between the eyeballs. He'd never been much good at mental defense, that boy.

Kurt checked the alarm clock beside him and gave a low moan. His shift started in an hour and he hadn't even moved. Not to mention he must have been having a particularly good dream before he was woken up, because he could feel its lingering effects between his legs. He didn't have time for this. Today was a big day, the Bad Guys had issued a warning that they were hitting one of the major banks, and Kurt was about 90% sure that The Fury was somehow involved. And when The Fury was involved, Porcelain was always right there to stand against him.

After all, that's what arch-nemeses were for, right?

He got up and padded into his bathroom, stepping into the shower. He was late, so it would have to be a quick one. He would have to resist the urge to deal with his little problem by hand. Sighing, he turned the water on cold, shivering and sending a glare downwards. He could just use his powers, but it sometimes left a very uncomfortable feeling if he did, and he wasn't in the mood to be female today.

After washing himself as fast as he could, he dried up and brushed his teeth, regarding his reflection in the mirror. He'd been using the same body for a little while, a youngish male who looked like the amalgamation of two of Kurt's favorite celebrities. The hair was shorter than he was used to, so needed less time and effort, and while he'd started off with the eyes as a sort of dull brown, he'd quickly got bored and turned them violet. He preened in front of the mirror for a few minutes, before walking back into his room to get dressed.

His supersuit hung on the outside of his closet, further proof that he had no one in his life to even hide it from. If he had a boyfriend, it would be folded and hidden under the bed, or surreptitiously stashed in a bottom drawer. He pulled it down carefully and, with a fair bit of effort, slipped it on. Full-bodied skintight suits were extremely practical for fighting because they didn't get caught anything, but they were a  _bitch_  to get on.

His suit was custom made. In fact, he had his own designer for his superwear. A new suit every week or so was a little much to expect the Agency to pay for. Kurt liked to change it up, and he utterly  _refused_  to wear the standardized uniforms the Agency provided them. You were allowed to customize it however you liked, but as far as Kurt was concerned, it was the same suit underneath and he wasn't going to be the same as  _anyone._ Even so, General Schuester had been nice enough to offer to make him one with his own designer team time and time again, but Kurt wouldn't have it. It wasn't like he was lacking in funds; the Agency paid spectacularly well.

This week's suit was sleek and black, one of Kurt's personal favorite looks. It accentuated every good point on whatever body he was currently using, and in this one, he looked absolutely sublime, thank you very much.

A second alarm sounded, this time on his phone. If he didn't leave now, he was definitely going to be late. No time to do his hair, so with a little twitch of an eye, he styled it using his powers, whilst grabbing for his phone to stop the sound.

 _1 New Message,_  the screen read. Kurt clicked it and saw the text from Emma Pillsbury, General Schuester's assistant.  _Fury confirmed for bank job._  Well, that was a good incentive to hurry up. Deciding to eat at work, he gathered his things, throwing them into a fabulous new man bag and finally leaving the flat.

It was going to be a good day, he could tell. When The Fury was involved, it was usually a good day.

And not just because Kurt  _always_  won.

* * *

The bank heist was coming along perfectly for a whole fifteen minutes.

They were already in the vault when the alarm sounded, a new record for them. Z was halfway through saying "Hey, I think we beat the ala-" when the shrill noise had started up.

Yep, The Fury was pretty sure he was part of the worst villain team in the entire League of Doom.

"New record." Z said with a grin. Dave glared at him, knowing his mask was on so Z couldn't see it.

"Let's just grab some money and split, okay? I want to at least pass  _one_  mission this year."

"Jeez, you make it sound like we're in  _school."_

"If this was school, you'd be a six year senior." Snixx cut in, throwing a packet of money at Z and hitting him square on the nose.

"He  _was_  a six year senior." Dave muttered, and then dodged as Z's fist went to punch him in the stomach. Probably saved the guy a bruise, too, which you'd think he'd learn after hitting Dave in the armor plenty of times before. Z never was known to be a bright spark. To add further proof, he made another swipe at Dave, who deftly grabbed his hand and held it back. Z let out a low growl, and Dave suddenly noticed the ice quickly spreading from his hand down Dave's armor. "Hey! Watch the suit!"

"Can you idiots please stop fighting and bag this money before we get arrested again?" Snixx yelled, glaring daggers at them. Not literally, of course, though  _that_  wasn't a rare occurrence within the group. Luckily, The Fury had equipped his armor with resistance against psychic attacks after the first one had caught him on the side of his head. Snixx had been caught between guilt that she could have killed him and anger that Dave had actually survived without going into a coma. She spent the rest of the day getting teased by Z, like they did whenever someone's powers went on the fritz.

Not that Dave had to worry about  _that._

Dave tossed a few more packs into the bag before tying it off and scoping their exit route with the x-ray function in his helmet. Clear, at the moment. The police were lagging, as per usual. "We're set to go." he told Snixx, and she answered with a quick nod, grabbing another packet of money and shoving it down the front of her cleavage. Typical.

"Let's get out of here." she ordered, pointing to their "door," a hole blown in the wall. They clambered out; her first, followed by Z and finally Dave.

In retrospect, Dave should probably have gone first. Then he would have seen the Agents who had just entered right into their exit route and were currently running towards their group.

" _Fuck_." was all he managed to say, before the three of them were thrown backwards into a wall.

* * *

Frankenteen was leading this mission, which was never a good thing in Porcelain's opinion. Whilst it was just great that he could smash through a building with barely any effort, he was certainly lacking in the brain department, and everyone knew that wasn't the way a leader was supposed to work. But Porcelain had never been the type to lead a group. Too much effort, and he always preferred to hang back and look pretty until someone interesting came along to fight. And by interesting, he meant The Fury.

Thankfully, Goldstar was here to keep the big lug under check so he didn't make any stupid decisions. Those two were some of the many Agency members who decided to work in specific teams, although they were more a pair than anything. Goldstar's powers, aside from her impressive combat abilities, consisted of vocal manipulation. In short, she could make people do what she wants by telling them. You should hear her sing.

Either way, she wasn't too bad at strategy, so Porcelain thought they might actually be all right. Last time he was teamed up with Frankenteen, Goldstar was sick, and the elephantine man somehow ended up hanging upside down by his size 20 feet. After managing to take out The Fury, as per usual, Porcelain had to go and rescue him before a whole building exploded, and the whole villain group had escaped. A rare occurrence. The Fury and his gang weren't exactly the best of the League of Doom.

Speaking of which, the place was singing like a bird with a whole litany of alarm bells. As per usual, subtlety was not a key feature of their operation. Or a feature at all.

"Let's head in." Frankenteen pointed to what appeared to be a massive hole in the wall in the back of the bank. Porcelain wondered if they  _wanted_ to be caught. They followed the route that the team had made and soon enough were close to the vault.

The Fury and his team walked straight into them. Typical. Before any of them could even react, Frankenteen rushed them and threw all three of them back. They slammed hard into a wall, too slow to dodge. "Fuck!" Porcelain heard The Fury curse. Excellent. He was already pissed off.

"Hey there, Fury." he teased, as the armored man stepped towards him.

"It's  _The_ Fury." his nemesis corrected. This was their routine. Every hero and their nemesis had one, and this was theirs. The banter was slightly different each time, but Porcelain always started with calling him 'Fury' without fail.

He wasn't exactly sure what had started their rivalry. They'd met at a shrink ray job a few years ago and something had just  _irked_  him about the man. He thought it was the outfit at first; it was an absolute monstrosity that couldn't decide whether it was armor or mecha, and the colors: a gaudy mix of red and yellow,  _really?_ But Porcelain knew now that it was more than that.

Porcelain knew his body pretty well.

An indiscriminate crashing noise diverted Porcelain from his thoughts. Goldstar made a break for Snixx, and, weaving between three or four psychic razors. She grabbed the girl by the wrist and tried to flip her, but Snixx was too strong and managed to pull away, shoving Goldstar to the ground as she did it. Clear of her, she jumped back and shot another razor, which was only just dodged. It caught Goldstar on the shoulder, and though her uniform and the skin underneath stayed intact, the pain that flared up from the hit was more than enough to stop her moving the arm.

All this happened while Frankenteen took on Z, like he always did whenever they fought this particular team. Depending on what group you were set with that week or month, most people usually settled with the same opponent. Porcelain was a little different because he tended to be sent on whatever mission The Fury was on, so no matter what, he knew what he was facing. And if The Fury wasn't there, he'd just take on whatever spare villain was left.

Z started by freezing Frankenteen's feet to the floor and getting a few cold punches in. It seemed to make little difference to the gargantuan hero, but Z wasn't discouraged. Even as Frankenteen broke free and smashed through the ice that Z was surrounding himself with, he just kept on icing, until eventually the huge man slipped and tumbled to the ground with a resounding boom that seemed to shake the building.

Porcelain sighed. Sometimes you had to do everything yourself.

With a deft kick to what he knew was a weak point in The Fury's suit – the back of the knees – he sent his opponent flying. The Fury stumbled to his feet pretty quickly, but definitely not fast enough, because Porcelain was already towering over him, and as the metal-encased man stared upwards, he was met with the gaze of Frankenteen. Well, Porcelain as Frankenteen. He couldn't copy his teammate perfectly, but he had enough of his superhuman strength to pluck The Fury up like he weighed nothing and fling him aside like a ragdoll. Too easy.

Snixx was next, and Porcelain always had a bit of fun with her. She was feisty. He leapt towards her, still as Frankenteen, gaining a fair bit of height that would have come crashing down hard, if he hadn't transformed mid-jump. Instead, a lithe foot padded down with barely a sound, and Porcelain rolled his shoulders, adjusting to the sizable breasts that now weighed him down. Porcelain didn't envy Snixx; these things were annoying.

He couldn't help but smile when Snixx hissed – literally hissed – at him. Another thing about her was that she  _hated_ being mimicked. Porcelain knew this, after all, there were much easier ways to defeat her than to copy her, but this was way more fun.

A few curse words and a gabble of Spanish he didn't understand later, Snixx launched herself at him, her hands glowing with two psychic razors. She aimed straight for his head, but Porcelain had already ducked down and jumped out her way. He had the distinct advantage of carrying the permanent powers he'd acquired over time; his speed and agility were unmatched by her, despite her talent, and his reactions were faster than hers. Added to that his invulnerability, he was pretty much guaranteed to win this.

She barely had time to spin on her heels before he sprang at her, his feet digging hard into her stomach, both winding her and knocking her onto her back. Then, he held her there, pinning her and barely resisting a witty comment, since she seemed adamant in ripping out his hair.

"Go to sleep, Snixx." Goldstar's voice emanated from somewhere beside Porcelain, and Snixx immediately relaxed underneath him. God, he envied her for that power. He'd tried to copy it many a time, with no success. It was just too advanced.

With Snixx down, that only left Z, who was frantically grabbing a helmet. Porcelain knew it was designed to work against powers like Goldstar's. He would have to be quick. He bounded over to Z in a few steps, wishing he had telekinesis, and attempted to wrestle the helmet out of his hands. Almost immediately, he regretted this, as a sudden explosion of pain rippled through his arms. Z's ice crept up his body like the cold of a thousand winters, and it hurt like frostbite ten times over. He staggered backwards, desperately trying to ignore the pain, to morph so he could be warm again, but his powers weren't responding. His body wouldn't shift in its frozen state, so he fell to the floor, whining in Snixx's voice, curling up and begging the planet to make this stop.

He could hear shouting and movement, and he knew that he would have to move, have to ignore the pain and just get up to fight. Move.  _Move!_

Porcelain dragged himself to his feet, eyebrows furrowed in sheer concentration as he forced his body to shift to someone,  _anyone_  but this frozen form.

He didn't mean to become The Fury. The stocky figure was unfamiliar to him; this was the first time he'd worn it. He could feel the thick layer of muscle and that extra chub between him and his clothes and – oh,  _that_ was going to piss The Fury off – he hadn't copied the suit, so he was dressed in Porcelain's skintight outfit.

The Fury was going to kill him almost as soon as he realized. Ah, yep, there it was: an aggravated shout and a barely dodged punch to the face. "You piece of shit!" he yelled, "Get the hell out of me!"

"That's what she sa-  _oof!"_ Porcelain let out a low grunt as he was shoved to the ground. The same sort of grunt he heard pretty often, when he was kicking The Fury's ass.

He was having trouble with this body – it was like it didn't fit him properly. This sometimes happened when he shifted into someone for the first time. It had been hours before he could get used to Frankenteen's form, and the worst thing is how hard it was to shift out of it.

Yeah, he was stuck. So now he'd have to fight off The Fury in all his suited up glory, completely and utterly barehanded, in a body that was not only exactly equal to his opponent, but that he couldn't even use properly. Great.

The Fury's suit was damaged, that was a start. Porcelain realized this as an armored fist caught him on the jaw. Clearly, The Fury had self hate issues; he rarely hit  _that_ hard _._ Pain shot through him, the kind of pain that would put most men out of commission for a few minutes at least. But Porcelain wasn't deterred. As the next fist came down, he reached out and grabbed it with his hands, cursing loudly as The Fury retaliated by shooting out of the guns on his wrist.

Porcelain was bad with bullets. They wouldn't kill him, unless they hit anything vital, but they damn well hurt, and he'd be losing blood. Better than knives, but his invulnerability really worked best against big or blunt objects.

He was getting frantic now, and for fuck's sake, where were his team? He tried to shift again, but his body wasn't having it.

Desperate, he scrambled for some iota of power locked inside The Fury. He begged and pleaded for it to do something, reached inside the part that usually responded by flaring up and doing something spectacular but…nothing. He couldn't feel a thing, not even something crap and totally embarrassing like the ability to make his hair glow pink. So the Fury had been telling the truth all this time. He really had no powers.

Fucking useless. The Fury really was totally reliant on his suit, the suit that Porcelain didn't have.

Right, his suit! If Porcelain could somehow take that out…but, fuck, he was stuck in this body and none of his normal powers would really help out, except…

He'd touched Z briefly, earlier. It was a long shot – Porcelain was never sure how much contact he had to have with someone to steal a bit of their powers, but worth a try. When The Fury's fist swung towards him again, he grasped it, thought the coldest, iciest thoughts he could, and squeezed his eyes shut.

A blast of cold air, a loud cracking sound and a stream of swear words, and Porcelain knew he'd won.

Well, even in a shifting world like Kurt's, some things never changed.


	2. The Fury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McKinleyopolis has always had two sides. Porcelain's a Good Guy and The Fury is his arch nemesis. It's that simple… right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Dave blatantly ripped his suit off Iron Man. Does he care? No. He's a badass. And Tony Stark sadly remains fictional, even in this universe, so he can't sue him. 
> 
> (Also, I really hate drawing armour, so Dave may well be naked the next time he appears on a chapter cover. Not that you guys would mind that, I'm sure. ;D)

* * *

 

 

* * *

 

 

**Chapter II – The Fury**

It took them almost two hours for the League to send someone to break them out of jail, so Dave was pretty damn tired by the time he eventually got home. He and Azimio decided to watch a movie at Dave's before they crashed, a typical post-failed mission ritual. Santana had tagged along tonight too, and was stretched out on Dave's other sofa.

"It's not that I don't think Batman's a great superhero and all, I'm just saying I think we could take him." Azimio explained, dangling a piece of pizza above his mouth. He couldn't look more like a frat boy if he tried.

"Are you that stupid? We couldn't take Batman if he had his hands tied behind his back." Santana scoffed. She was checking her phone for what seemed like the hundredth time that night. Dave was surprised she didn't bring it out during the mission; probably afraid someone would steal it and read her sexts.

"If we were the Batman villains, his fucking parents would still be alive." Dave murmured, taking a bite of his own pizza. It tasted a bit too much like blood. His face had gotten pretty mashed in today, after Porcelain had practically smashed his suit apart.

"Batman's parents weren't killed by any big bad villain, they were shot in a mugging. And speak for yourself. Let's see the dude beat me up with his hands frozen." As if they didn't know what that meant, Azimio started to ice up his hands. He was met with two sets of rolling eyes.

"Yeah? And what if he has some sort of flamethrower?"

"Then you blast him with your tech."

Dave snorted. "Come on, dude, my suit isn't anywhere near as good as anything Batman could make." Dave was a pretty good designer, but even the League couldn't fund a fraction of the made up shit that Batman had.

"We could totally take him."

"You're totally a moron." Maybe he said it a bit too harshly, because Azimio's eyebrows shot up like he was concerned.

"What's got your panties in a twist? You've been in a foul mood all week." He snorted, "When was the last time you got laid?"

"None of your fucking business."

Azimio laughed, "That long?"

"If you want to hook up, we should go out this week. You know I can find you a lay, no problems." Santana closed her phone case with a click and shoved it into her pocket, not without a hint of frustration.

"Ugh, no. Too much effort."

"Well, I'm not getting you a whore." Azimio Adams, Sass Level 100.

"Fuck you, I don't want-"

"Shh! The Joker's on screen!" Santana interrupted, throwing a pillow at Azimio and hitting him square in the face. They fell silent for a few minutes, until Azimio burst into laughter as the Joker shoved the guy's head through a pencil.

"Now that's a magic trick." he chuckled. Santana threw another pillow at his shin, hissing at him to shut up. Azimio sat back in his chair, mumbling about her not even watching the movie, just as Santana started playing with her phone again. Dave was kind of curious about why she was obsessed with that thing tonight, but asking her would probably just end with her fist in his face. Santana was fairly protective about her personal life, even to Dave and Azimio, who were probably her closest friends.

Eventually, the film ended and Santana was fast asleep on the sofa. Dave didn't have the heart to wake her up, and so just let her sleep there, trying to be as quiet as possibly as he walked to the door to let Azimio out.

"See you at the president kidnap tomorrow." Azimio said as he left, probably loud enough both to wake Santana up  _and_  for the whole building to hear. Great. Dave waved him away, closing the door behind him. Then he threw a blanket over Santana, who somehow slept through all that, and headed to his room. Best get a full night's sleep, especially since they were going to be facing the same team tomorrow.

After all, he was due to lose to Porcelain again.

* * *

"So what is it you want me for this time?" President Figgins asked, bored. He was tied up on a rooftop, and couldn't look less terrified by the situation. Not surprising, really, the man got kidnapped at least once a week by someone from the League.

"Not sure." Snixx admitted, checking the ropes. "Sue Sylvester wants some policy change, and apparently she's run out of blackmail material."

"Oh, alright then. So you're not going to try and kill me?"

"Not today, Mr. President." The Fury answered. "Maybe next week."

"Not if we can help it!"

And the cycle starts again. The Fury had to resist rolling his eyes as the hero group made their dramatic entrance, taking poses. He half expected them to bring their own flower petals to throw, so they could waft around them like a shitty girls' manga.

The Fury was in a bad mood today.

"The Agency won't stand by as the powers of evil infect our society!" He stood and pretended to listen as Goldstar prattled on about justice and the powers of good verses evil, wondering briefly if he'd remembered to buy onions at the supermarket that morning. "I, Goldstar, will never let that happen, not as long as-" If he'd forgotten, he would have to order take out, or rumble something up from the cupboard. "You can bet that this will be the last evil deed you ever-" But he'd already defrosted the chicken for tonight, so he should really use it. "Justice will be fulfilled! Right will triumph over wrong, because-" He flicked up the website for the nearest supermarket on his interior screen, and checked their closing times. 10pm. Damn, no way he'd be done with this in ti-

"Fury. We meet again." Porcelain's voice interrupted his thoughts. He closed down the website and concentrated on what was in front of him. Porcelain, with auburn hair now, smirked at him. Asshole.

"It's  _The_ Fury." He hissed back, reaching out to grab Porcelain. He was too slow and his hand closed around air. With a grunt, Porcelain ducked, dropped down and delivered a low sweep kick to The Fury's shins, with just enough power to flip him onto his front, armor and all. The Fury quickly flung out his arms to break his fall, just as Porcelain's foot drove down onto the back of his neck, forcing him down. With a normal guy, a move like this could dislocate their shoulders or break their arms, but The Fury was heavily protected by his suit, so was saved from damage. It still hurt like a bitch, though.

Cursing, The Fury rolled onto his back and managed to get up before he had to dodge a punch from Porcelain. He wasn't quite sure why the hero insisted on hitting him, when he knew it would amount to very little, but he seemed to get some entertainment out of it.

Oh, well. Time to bring out the big guns. Literally. The Fury activated his arm weapons and took aim at Porcelain's chest. Violet eyes widened with shock, even though he'd seem them a hundred times. A security camera swooped past and The Fury remembered why. Of course, all of this was being filmed. There were channels for watching battles like theirs, 24 hour surveillance into the world of the Hero and the Villain.

The Fury took aim. Shot. Missed.

He knew what was coming. Santana and Z had already been subdued; The Fury could see them out of the corner of his eye. Z had actually managed to take down Frankenteen by putting him in a giant ice cube, but he'd put on his protective helmet too late, and Goldstar had made him handcuff himself.

Snixx had done slightly better, she'd learnt from last time and gotten the headgear on the moment she'd seen Goldstar, but just as she was about to shoot a psychic razor at the small woman, she'd been taken down from behind by that invisible chick The Fury had forgotten the name of. No one had even realized she was there.

So that left The Fury and Porcelain. The others were too busy trying to thaw out Frankenteen to disturb them, but The Fury spared a few more glances their way just to check. Bad idea. A sai sword left a heavy scratch in his suit before he could dodge it.

"Distracted?" Porcelain teased, getting ready to land the final blow. He was either going to push The Fury to the ground, grab his helmet and knock him out, or subdue him with one of his other powers.

Not this time. The Fury had had enough. He wanted to  _win._

Letting out a war cry that should have made all the heroes turn to them, The Fury surged forward. Porcelain dodged immediately, his face warped with shock. This wasn't part of the routine. He sank to the left, but The Fury knew he would. He met him with a jump to the left and before Porcelain could react, he seized him by the throat and threw him against the nearest wall.

Porcelain let out a high-pitched squeak that didn't suit his current body, writhing and fighting against The Fury's grip, but to no avail. He was pinned, and whilst he was invulnerable, that didn't stop him from dying of asphyxiation. And he couldn't transform properly, not with his head spinning like this. Shit, any minute now he was going to revert back to his original body. It was like a last ditch defense mechanism.  _Shit._

His eyes darted everywhere, but The Fury was blocking his view. "Distracted?" Porcelain could only let out a whine. The Fury wouldn't really  _kill_ him, would he? Was this it? Was this the end? Was he going to die whilst his team had their backs to him?

His eyes rested back on The Fury, and he wished somehow that he could see the villain's face, just for this moment. Was he smiling? Was he really enjoying this? Or was this an act of pure anger? But when The Fury spoke again, all Porcelain could hear was mirth. "Go on, ask me to let you go.  _Beg_ me. You and I both know I'm not getting out of here free, I don't need to kill you now. So beg, and maybe I'll spare you."

Normally, Porcelain would have replied that he'd rather die than beg anything of The Fury. But now that he was here, seconds away from the darkness, his lungs screaming for air… he would do anything to live.

"Please…" was the last word he croaked out, before the both of them fell unconscious, Porcelain from the lack of oxygen, and The Fury from the giant fist slamming down onto his head.

* * *

When Dave woke up, he was in handcuffs.

He tried to sit up, but the moment he moved, the world spun so hard he had to lie back and close his eyes again. He wasn't sure if he was in a moving vehicle or if it was just in his head, until they went over a bump and he felt his body jerking. Definitely a van of some sort, probably on the way to the police station, or worse, to the Agency.

The station was an easy escape, especially if the whole team was there, just like last time, but the Agency…they were different. They didn't try to punish you, they tried to  _convert_  you. And somehow, even though they let you go at the end to 'pursue whatever path you choose', it left a sour taste in Dave's mouth.

He didn't need to be lectured for a day on why he should be a Good Guy rather than a bad one. And it wasn't as if the Agency didn't have their own private ways of convincing you if they  _really_ wanted you to join them. They had something on everyone, and if they actually cared enough, it would take just a little effort to recruit a bunch of hack villains like themselves.

But there was equilibrium to be kept. No matter how many times he heard the "you should become one of us instead – our state of the art psychiatrists can help you with whatever makes you feel like a bad person…" routine, he knew that it wasn't really sincere. If every bad guy converted, the whole agency would be out of jobs. There'd be the occasional psycho, but nowhere near the scale of the League of Doom. You've got to have the evil, to make the good look good.

After the dizziness had subsided a little, Dave tried to sit up again. He managed this time, and, blinking into the darkness, he could see that Snixx and Z were there too, handcuffed like he was. Snixx appeared to be either unconscious or asleep, and Z was rubbing his head and muttering something about white girls and their stupid voices.

They'd taken off Dave's helmet and the main body of his armor off, but they apparently couldn't get the arm plates off. Not a wise move. With a little struggle, he activated the GPS system built into the underside of the plate and waited for it to track their location. Meanwhile, he stretched out a foot and poked Snixx, who immediately roused to glare at him.

"Wha-" Dave put a finger to his lip and she quieted. Then he pointed to his wrist, knowing that the other would know what he meant. They should have, since they'd been through this countless times before.

Finally, the GPS finished loading.  _Shit,_  they were headed out of McKinleyopolis. That meant that they were going to the Agency location on the edge of town, not the police station. Now they had to escape before they got there, or face another few days of useless rehabilitation. Given that this was their third visit this month, it might mean they would just kill them. And Dave really didn't want to die. Not today. Not before knowing whether Porcelain had made it out alive.

Porcelain. Just before Dave had blacked out, the guy's eyes had turned a greeney-blue color and rolled up into his head, and Dave had no idea if he was alive or dead. Not that he cared or anything. He was totally trying to kill him, after all. He wasn't going to let him go, no way. And that whole begging thing definitely wasn't him giving his nemesis a way out.

It was ridiculous that it even got to the point it did. Where the fuck were Porcelain's little team when he threw him against that wall? Did no one see? Or did they just not care? Assholes, the lot of them. And they were supposed to be the good guys. Porcelain could have died!

Yeah, Dave was officially the most pathetic nemesis of all time.

Right, their daring escape. It was going to be a cakewalk, so easy it seemed like the Agency was barely trying. They had to have known that Dave had a laser built into his gloves, right? It took him seconds to cut through his handcuffs and kick them under his seat, and he wasted no time in getting through Snixx and Z's.

Snixx pushed past him and quickly dismantled the lock on the back door with something she pulled out of her hair – Dave didn't know what it was, nor did he want to. Whilst she assessed how fast they were going, Dave reassembled his armor – kindly left at the side of the van. This was too easy.

With the help of an ice slide, courtesy of Z, they were out a few minutes later. The van drove on, apparently unaware. Dave watched it turn a corner a block away. Way too easy.

Why bother to even catch them in the first place?

* * *

The room was really white. Kurt blinked into the light, hoping he wasn't dead, before his senses returned to him and he realized where he was. The Agency medical facility, no doubt about it. Sitting up, pain shot through him like one of Zizes' lightning bolts. How hard had The Fury thrown him against that wall?

Rachel and Finn were stood vigil by his bedside, and had apparently been there for a while. Kurt had been out cold for at least ten hours now, and they'd rushed over as soon as the paperwork was filled out. God knows they must have been tired. It was quite nice, knowing someone was there for him. If he'd been hit by a car whilst out of work hours, there'd be no one to greet him when he woke up in hospital. Granted, even being hit by a tank would hardly leave a scratch on Kurt, but that wasn't the point.

"Mirror?" he asked, his voice coming out raspy. He should probably check to see who he was.

Rachel handed him one, but she didn't look nervous or horrified so he couldn't have morphed into something awful. He stared into it and bright green eyes stared back at him. The mouth and eyebrows of the body he was using hadn't changed, nor had the hair and overall body structure. But those eyes, that nose and the stark paleness of his skin…a few more seconds in The Fury's grip and he would have turned back into his original body.

It wouldn't have mattered  _that_ much, theoretically. The only one who would have seen it would have been The Fury, and somehow, his nemesis always seemed to know it was him anyway.

But it would change things. If something were ever to happen to him, Kurt had the security of his original form to run to. One day, if he wanted to leave all of this behind, he could change back and become a normal person again. Only, that would be different if someone, especially The Fury, were to know his true face. It was his last defense, one he'd protected well. Only a few of his friends had seen the real Kurt Hummel.

He spent the next hour listening to his friends worry and, once they finally left, Joe 'The Hart' Hart came to his bedside, smiling gently. Kurt wondered if he'd gotten lucky to be treated by one of the Agency's top healers, or if he just happened to be on duty.

"We're releasing you, but you need to take it easy for the next few days." Joe said, glancing down at the clipboard in his hands and jotting down a note. "I've healed the bruises around your throat. The oxygen deprivation didn't do any serious damage to your body, but I can sense that your powers had an adverse reaction as your body went into shock. Your invulnerability must have buckled under the strain – that's why he was able to bruise you."

"Makes sense." Kurt agreed, rubbing his neck. There was no pain or tenderness, but he could almost feel it, as if just knowing it was meant to be there was enough. And breathing actually did hurt, Kurt suspected the internal damage wasn't something that could just be mended instantly.

Joe continued to scribble on the clipboard. "I need you to put your body under minimum strain. You're going to need to rest your powers."

"What, so I shouldn't use them?"

"Actually, it would probably be best if you returned to your original body for a little while." He tore a piece of paper off and handed it to Kurt, "I've issued you a week off, so no need to come in or anything, but if you want to lie low…"

"Sure." Kurt could spend a few days in, and tell his friends he's recovering. No one needed to see him. He was going to meet Brittany for coffee later…today? Was it today? But she had seen his true form before anyway, when he was younger, so that wouldn't be an issue.

Brittany was one of the few Agents he actually socialized with outside of work. She was different from Goldstar and Frankenteen because she didn't work on the field. There were no disguises, no codenames or pretense when it came to Brittany. She was a sensor, and she worked within the Agency to find new talent and potential threats. She was the best they had, too, able to sense supers in almost the whole city. She had been the one to recruit Kurt.

Kurt had discovered his powers in High School. He'd been a 5'7 skinny kid with pimples, a voice high enough to mark him with a bullseye and a knack for the latest fashion. Add all that together and he might as well have had a  _kick-me_ sign permanently fixed on his back.

Then, things began to change. It started with a late surge of puberty. In a few months, he'd grown four inches, muscled out a lot and began to look like an adult. It was fast, and he still barely noticed until he towered over his female friends and caught the occasional curious eye in his direction. Those months blessed him with something he'd strived for his entire life.

And then one day, he'd woken up as Kitty Wilde.

There were no words to describe the terror of looking in the mirror and seeing someone else looking back at you. It was like a nightmare, and it took a high-pitched shriek and good ten minutes of pinching whoever's body this was to realize he wasn't asleep. That was the first time he'd actually thanked some holy power for the feminine tonality of his normal voice, because he was able to dash out of the house, shouting goodbye to his father and hoping he sounded at least a little like himself. He also felt slightly ashamed that he had clothes in his closet that not only sort of fit this body but also were entirely passable as female fashion.

By some stretch of a miracle, Kurt didn't see the real Kitty around anywhere when he got to school. Or maybe not a miracle; he remembered a little while later that he'd overheard her complaining about being ill yesterday. Whether he had subconsciously picked her deliberately didn't occur to him until a few days had passed.

He'd wondered around for a while, smiling and interacting with the people around him as authentically as he could. It was going well, until Kitty's current boyfriend had grabbed his wrist and pulled him into a kiss. For a moment, he'd panicked, frozen, before the warmth of prying lips melted him. It was all in the name of authenticity, he told himself. He kept telling himself this as Justin – was it Justin? Something beginning with J – yanked him into a janitor's closet and began to unbutton the blouse Kurt had put on this body.

Making out with a guy in a janitor's closet. It was cliché and so incredibly unusual all at the same time. He knew it was wrong, knew he was lying to the guy, but he couldn't deny the warmth, the weird tingling sensation which was so similar and yet remarkably different from the kind of arousal he was familiar with. He didn't want to stop, and why should he? Justin…or was it Jack? Well, he was clearly enjoying himself; the hardness pressing against Kurt's thigh was proof enough of that.

Somehow, Kurt found his hand sliding down Justin or Jack or James' leg and pressing gently against his trapped erection. He gave a soft groan, mumbled something about him…about  _her_ being a tease. Kurt's stomach twisted dangerously. A tease, really? He'd show this guy how serious he really was. His fingers played with the other boy's beltline, and before he knew it, he was unbuttoning his jeans and pulling down the fly, sinking to his knees.

He'd never given a blowjob before, but he at least knew that it involved his mouth. And god, did he want to taste Jake's dick. Oh, yeah,  _Jake,_  that was his name. It was like every single iota of his repressed sexual frustration was pouring through him at once, and it didn't matter that this was all a lie, the panting moans and the hands sinking into his hair felt pretty damn real to him.

And God, he hoped he was doing this right.

There was no real room for thoughts of technique or to try and imitate the modest amount of porn that Kurt had seen; he worked on instinct, savoring the feel and the taste and the noises. It was over too soon, of course, and he faced that moment of panic as Justin yanked his hair and moaned a jumble of words that made Kurt pull back at least enough to swallow without choking.

"What was that for?" Jake panted as they pulled apart, smiling. But the smile quickly dropped as a look of horror replaced it. As soon as he saw it, Kurt knew he was himself again.

"Hummel?" Jake pushed him back with full force. Kurt fell and crashed into a bucket, knocking a mop into Justin's shoulder. "What the fuck!?"

"I…" Kurt took a deep breath, trying not to freak out too. "I don't know! You just pulled me in here! "

"No, no I didn't! I pulled Kitty in here, I…fuck, you were  _her!_  Those are girls' clothes!" he pointed at the light blue blouse and skintight jeans, but Kurt scoffed, even as the guilt clawed up inside him.

"I always wear girls' clothes. I seem to remember you pointing that out on occasion." Jake blustered a little, but said nothing. Kurt wasn't sure how he was going to get away with this, how he would stop Jake from saying anything, and then it occurred to him. "I would never have thought  _you_ of all people were gay."

It was a shitty move, and years later Kurt would wonder if he'd caused any long term mental damage there, but he wasn't about to admit the truth. And he only had to look at Jake to know the guy wouldn't be saying a thing; his expression was one of pure terror. "I'm not!" he shouted, then quieter, "I didn't… Hummel, if you tell anyone about this-"

"I won't." Kurt answered, like he was doing Jake a favor. Poor guy bolted out of there like…well, like he'd just been blown by a gay guy in a janitor's closet and wanted to get out of there, stat.

And that was the first time Kurt morphed.

It happened more frequently as the year went on, and Kurt slowly learned to control it. One day he'd wake up as a jock, and flit in and out of the locker room showers. Others, he'd be a cheerleader, and those were the fun times. He'd have to be careful never to run into the people he was imitating, and he had a lot of near misses, but he mastered the art of avoidance. In all honesty, the rush of teenage hormones and this newfound power were probably a terrible combination – Kurt did all sorts of things in those months he wasn't proud of. It's not like he'd been a  _prude_  before, but some of his actions that year would make his past self balk.

It was all going quite well, until Kurt got in trouble for absenteeism, for when he hadn't checked in as  _himself_. The look on his dad's face was enough to stop him morphing for months. He restricted his powers for the privacy of his own bedroom, practicing in front of mirrors and yes, okay, for the occasional masturbatory fantasy. He  _was_  a teenager, for crying out loud, and one who had only recently discovered his own sexual appetite. There was something so liberating about being someone else; it meant that he never felt self-conscious, he never had to worry about what people thought about him because he wasn't  _him._

Eventually, though, he was found.

The Agency had plenty of sensors, but Brittany was the one who located him, and she was the one they sent to him, along with a generic suited agent Kurt hadn't seen since. Kurt had run downstairs at the call of his dad, who was looking pretty damn confused at the two people stood at his front door.

"Kurt Hummel?" the agent had asked, reading off what looked like an iPad. "Are you Kurt?" Kurt nodded dumbly, terrified. Brittany, seeing how scared he was, offered a smile. She hadn't been much older than him at the time, maybe a year or two. "It's okay. Mr. Hummel, could we speak to Kurt alone?"

Burt stared between Britt, the agent and Kurt, sighed and waved them in. Brittany didn't move. "Oh, is this your house?" she asked, still smiling.

Blank gazes met her, but the agent just rolled his eyes and walked past her. "Don't mind her, she gets…a little confused sometimes."

It had been a long process, signing up for the Agency. He'd been dubious at first, but they'd started him small and before he was finished with High School, he knew he wanted to do it as a permanent job. It was a good job, even with all the danger. He got to meet (and steal powers from, he later realized) a lot of interesting people, and do good and stuff.

The pay package was a bonus, honest.

But joining the Agency had its downsides too. Kurt was almost constantly in the limelight, not that it was an issue, but having your fake face on reality TV all the time was exhausting. When he wasn't saving the city, he was giving interviews, every time having to prove that he was indeed Porcelain, before wishing McKinleyopolis well and plastering on a big smile. His job was as much performance as it was crime fighting, and tiring as it was, he was one of the best. Every week a new outfit, a new face, a new smile to present to the world. They loved him because he was always changing, always current, shifting yet invariably a spectacle of beauty.

Well, except for now.

An hour or two after the Agency let him go home to his apartment, Kurt stood in front of the mirror. He took a deep breath and immediately regretted it as his pain in his throat seared. Then, he closed his eyes and relaxed his body, breathing out and letting it settle. When he opened his eyes again, the real Kurt Hummel stared back at him.

He stepped back and examined himself. It had been a while since he'd used this body, mostly because he really didn't like it much. He wasn't ashamed of that, after all, no one  _really_ liked how they looked.

Or maybe that was just what Kurt told himself.

Pale skin, with a smattering of freckles on his shoulders and chest. They covered his face too, but they were less noticeable there. He was slim – toned, even – but he always had a slight curve to his stomach and he was a little…soft. He just looked kind of supple to the touch, no matter how muscled he got. And he hated his eyebrows, because no matter what he did to them, they still seemed to be unruly after five minutes, and don't even get him started on his  _nose._

Kurt just generally disliked his body. He'd never felt comfortable in it, perhaps simply because no one had ever let him feel comfortable. Even after his magical growth spurt, there were always people there to kick him into a state of crappy self-esteem. No one had ever treated him like he was  _attractive_ , at least no one who counted. And yeah, it sucked that he needed the world's verification to feel good about himself, but when he could blink and become someone else, someone  _better,_  how could he possibly love what he was born with?

He sighed, tracing a finger along his jaw. All he wanted was to shift, but he knew that wasn't happening. Guess he would just have to stick with it for now.

His mind wondered to what The Fury would do for this week. Would the Agency assign him a temporary nemesis kind of thing? Kurt's stomach twisted at that. Much as he was loath to admit it, he was a little possessive over his arch-rival. The thought that some other agent could be fighting him, exchanging playful banter, pushing and shoving the man, dodging a laser blast and occasionally breaking off some armor to get a glimpse of the flexing muscles underneath…

No, The Fury was  _his._ Kurt would have to be extra sure his rival knew that when he returned to duty. He'd have to fight him full throttle, maybe somehow get him out of the suit and press him hard against a wall; assert his position. He just loved the look on The Fury's face whenever he was defenseless, and since Kurt didn't get to see his face very often, it was a rare treat. That panicked glance, his eyes darting and his muscles so tensed they filled out the tightish-but-not-tight-enough black clothes he wore underneath his armor.

Kurt's hand lingered at his waistline, his fingers stroking the skin there. Well, he still had an hour until he was meeting Brittany.

Jerk off, shower, go for coffee with Britt, try and relax. After all, he couldn't do much else right now.

Was this what life was for normal people?


	3. Blind Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McKinleyopolis has always had two sides. Porcelain's a Good Guy and The Fury is his arch nemesis. It's that simple… right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this took a while! Um, I'm sorry, I got super busy and unmotivated to write...If there's anyone still wanting to read this fic, this is for you!

 

****

 

* * *

**Chapter III – Blind Truth**

"Any plans for Friday evening?" Brittany asked Kurt as they sat down with their coffees. It was lucky this place was just around the corner from Kurt's house, because he was feeling horribly insecure in his current exposed form.

"Not exactly. Was going to hit the regular spots and find some company for the night." Kurt gave a small smile, and Brittany giggled.

"Well, if wanted to let me set you up…" she said, suggestively wiggling her eyebrows. Kurt considered it. Brittany was a good matchmaker, even if Kurt was only looking for a one-night stand. Some of his best "company" came by blind dates set up by Brittany. And considering the week he'd had so far, he was going to need an easy evening. A nice meal and some fine wine before a night of mindless sex was just what the doctor ordered. Well, actually, the doctor had told him to get plenty of rest, but that would come after.

"You know, I've never actually been on a date in my real form." Kurt mused, touching his cheek self-consciously.

"This is your real form?" Brittany replied. Another reason Kurt felt safe being himself around Brittany; the girl was about as sharp as a marble. It wasn't her fault – her powers were constantly running, and they used up a fair amount of her cognitive ability. The result was that often she blanked out completely as she picked up a super, or she would just forget what she was saying half way through a sentence.

"Okay, set me up." Kurt decided to risk it this one time. He deserved a good fuck after having to deal with all this Agency crap.

"Any particular type?" Brittany asked, pulling out her phone. Undoubtedly, she already had a few people in mind. For a person who couldn't tell her left and right, she was remarkably good at this.

"Make sure he's got stamina. I'll need a good workout if I'm sitting around all week."

"I'll ask around." There was definitely a twinkle in her eye now, and that made Kurt happy. Brittany didn't have it easy – she worked hard and her powers dulled her mind, so she had to really concentrate to keep her abilities at bay. Still, she made great coffee company, especially after dealing with the intensity of Kurt's usual workmates.

Kurt spent the next week eating pizza and lazing around. It was perfectly dull, and to his own surprise, he loved every minute of it. For those few days, he could live a semi-normal life. He finally made use of the Wii he'd bought last year, and sorted through his wardrobe, throwing out anything really out of season that couldn't be reinvented at a later date. Maybe this whole 'normal person' thing wasn't so bad after all.

Once he'd thrown away about ten outfits, he called his tailor and organized next week's supersuit, and was about to order Chinese food when he remembered he had a date in a few hours time.

Brittany had set him up with what she called "a friend of a friend", and they were meeting at Fahrenheit at eight. It was currently six, and he hadn't picked out what to wear yet. Fuck.

An hour and a half later, Kurt was desperately trying to find his wallet whilst having to do his hair the normal way instead of using his powers. God, he'd forgotten how thick and unruly his real hair was. Half a can of hairspray down, he attempted to put shoes on while searching for his phone, and eventually checked the mirror one last time before leaving. He looked immaculate, despite his misgivings about this body.

Skipping hurriedly down the stairs of his apartment block, he forced himself to take a deep breath and calm his nerves. This was a _blind date;_ he had no obligation to look pretty. Everything would be fine.

He fought crime for a living, for fuck's sake. Facing the world undisguised shouldn't be that much of a hardship.

* * *

It was a nice place, one of Kurt's favorites for his dates. Not over the top expensive, but enough so that if his date felt like paying, they'd be satisfied to have carried out a gentlemanly gesture. He was familiar with almost all the waiting staff, though they of course had no idea who he was. He'd been a tall brunette woman the last time he was here, with bright green eyes and a full-lipped smile.

He was early, but maybe only a little this time. He always seemed to overestimate how bad the traffic would be, even though the drive was barely ten minutes. He knew the drill, he'd go to the bar and check if his date was early too, and if not, sit and wait until he got a text from the man – whose name he still didn't know, saved as 'stamina guy' on his phone. Brittany was all for mystery, she wouldn't even reveal the guy's name when she sent his number. Kurt previously had such mysteries as 'hot blond', 'gorgeous eyes', and 'up for anything' gracing his contact list.

He made his way over to the bar, eyes scanning to see if a man was waiting for him. There was one guy there, and Kurt's heart started pounding before it hit him. When you fought against someone four or five times a week, you learn to recognize them from any angle, even from a mechanical-suitless back. Especially Kurt, whose powers allowed him to memorize and imitate a body within seconds of seeing it.

There was no doubt about it: that was The Fury.

His mind went straight to hero mode. _Crap!_ He was off duty, he was on a _date,_ what was he supposed to do? Worse still, he wasn't supposed to use his powers. He glanced around, there was no one else just hanging around at either the bar or the waiting area.

Okay, so his date wasn't here yet. Maybe he could take out The Fury before the guy turned up? He was hunched over something, maybe his drink, so Kurt could quite easily sneak up on him and knock him out before he even knew what was happening. One quick call to the Agency to pick him up and Kurt would be Fury free for the next few days at least.

His phone buzzed in his pocked, and he pulled it out. One new message from 'stamina guy'.

_'At bar when you get here.'_ At bar? He was at the bar, and the only other person here was-

The sinking feeling in Kurt's stomach was matched only by the rush of adrenaline that burst through him. He chided himself for being so slow, for thinking for even a second that the universe wasn't laughing at him.

His date was The Fury.

He was going on a date with his nemesis. His arch-nemesis, who he hated. Detested, actually. Who had nearly killed him last week. And, though he was loath to admit it, had on more than one occasion, been the subject of dreams so kinky they were probably illegal in several countries.

Immediate battle strategy sprung into his mind. The Fury still hadn't seen him, he could still take him by surprise, but now that he wasn't hunched over his phone, he was more likely to catch on. And Kurt couldn't deny that he was itching for a fight, but he was still aware he wasn't supposed to use his powers.

Or maybe…maybe he could go on the date. After all, this was his real body, so there was no reason for The Fury to recognize him, right? He could spend the next few hours finding out vital information about him that would undoubtedly help in their next battle. That couldn't hurt, and it was a small price to pay for that kind of intel.

Kurt cleared his throat and walked right up to The Fury. "Hi. I'm Kurt." The man turned around, and for a moment, his eyes widened with what Kurt was _sure_ was recognition. But it couldn't have been, because The Fury's face settled into an easy smile.

"Dave." The Fury replied.

Dave. His name was _Dave._ That was so pedestrian, and yet it suited him perfectly. They guy with no powers. Dave.

Dave held out a hand, and Kurt shook it, slightly tentative. He always liked to judge a man by his handshake, and Dave's was the perfect balance between firm and gentle. Supervillain or not, Kurt couldn't fault him on that. I mean, the guy might work for the most evil corporation of all time, but at least he gave a decent handshake.

"You want to get a table?" Dave – fuck, it was weird thinking of him like that – waved towards the seated area. Kurt nodded, and followed silently as Dave spoke to a waiter and had them led over to a table. He regarded Dave with curiosity, entirely unsure what to make of him. As he sat down, Dave shot him a warm smile, confusing Kurt even more.

He was nothing like The Fury Kurt was familiar with. The Fury was brash, abrasive, undyingly pissed off, and of course there was the added bonus that most of his life was dedicated to making Kurt's absolute hell. But with that smile, The Fury became… well, _Dave._ He was almost _charming._ Ew.

"So, um, Kurt. How do you know Santana?"

"Who?" Kurt blinked a few times – he'd been staring.

"Santana – she was the one who set this up."

"Oh, right! No, well, it was Brittany who must know her. She's a friend of mine, from work."

"Ah, okay. So what is it you do?"

"I work in fashion. I'm a designer." Kurt lied, fluidly. It came pretty naturally to him by now. "What about you?"

"Advertising."

"Wow, you're in pretty good shape for someone in advertising. You must work out."

Dave gave a short laugh, "I'm flattered. But the real question is why _you're_ a designer, and not working the catwalk." Kurt snorted in a totally unflattering way, and then immediately covered his mouth, embarrassed. But Dave only laughed softly, "And you're so cute, too. I need to call Santana and tell her how cruel this was."

"Cruel? What's so cruel?"

"Oh, come on, you're clearly way out of my league." Dave flashed a smile and Kurt kind of melted inside, ignoring the fact that Dave had just said _league_ and Kurt's danger senses should have immediately flared up. He could feel his face flaming now, and barely resisted giggling. But of course, Dave didn't mean it. It's not like Kurt was a supermodel right now, or looked anywhere near as good as he did normally.

"You need to stop complimenting me before I get too embarrassed." Kurt teased, "So what do you do when you're not doing advertising?"

"Besides working out? The usual stuff, I suppose. I like movies, sports, long walks on the beach…"

"Sure picked the wrong place to live, then."

"Right. I like long walks through the dark alleys of the city." Kurt laughed, "Uh, I'm a pretty good cook, I guess?"

"Really? I love cooking too. Not so keen on the dark alleys. It's dangerous out there, you know."

"True. A little guy like you could get in a lot of trouble."

"Exactly. I wouldn't know how to defend myself." Kurt was sure Dave didn't pick up on the mocking tone in his voice, but he smiled in amusement. "Plus, I wasn't exactly brought up here, so the city streets are still pretty intimidating to me."

"You didn't grow up in McKinleyopolis?" Dave queried, taking a sip of water. At precisely that moment, a waiter came over to hear their order. Kurt decided to ignore the fact that he'd eaten junk food all week, and ordered the steak. Dave, after surveying him curiously, elected to join him. He offered Kurt the wine list and let him choose.

"Well, not in the city." Kurt finally answered, once the waiter left, "A little suburb called Lima. You?"

"I was born in the suburbs too, but I moved around a lot. Started living in Central when I was a teenager."

"So you're a bit more street savvy than me. I've only been here a couple of years, and it still seems like a different city every time I walk out of my apartment."

"Well, with the League of Doom around, it might actually be a different city." There was a hint of amusement too much in Dave's voice.

Kurt laughed, "The city swap! I remember that, last February. Took everyone hours to realize we'd swapped places with Daltonville. God, that was humiliating."

"You say that as if you feel personally responsible." Dave joked. Well, Kurt hoped it was a joke.

"No, I just mean…it was embarrassing how not a single civilian noticed we'd moved 900 kilometers north. I guess it's a good thing we have the Agency to save us."

Dave made a noise of agreement. "Thank god for the Good Guys, right? You follow the supernews much?"

"A little. Not so much all the reality shows, I mean, the Real Housewives of Supers? Come on." Kurt smiled to himself as he said that; he'd totally appeared that show once, having made up an entire fake profile under a false name with one of his female friends. It had been hilarious. "But I like to keep up with the news. And the hero profiles, they're always good. To see the amazing things people can do-" _and to take note on whose powers would be worth copying -_ "it's really something."

"Yeah." Dave agreed, "It must be amazing. To have powers, I mean."

Kurt glanced up at him, trying to read his expression. Because, of course, Dave wasn't making that up. The guy really did envy people with powers, since he was one of the only supers out there who wasn't actually _super._ Kurt had never really thought about how hard it must be for him, to compete against gods when he was just human. Just…normal. Kurt envied him and pitied him at the same time.

"Must be." he murmured, hoping he wasn't being too obvious. "Guess we'll never know, though?"

They quickly changed the subject to something much more trivial, and Kurt found himself enjoying the evening more and more as it went on. He laughed more than he had done on any other date recently, the conversation running so smoothly he wondered if Dave wasn't really more practiced at this than he wanted to appear. It was so…easy. Everything Kurt had worried about became obsolete as the hours flowed onwards, and eventually, they realized they might have been sat at the table for far too long. The speed at which the bill came was a testament to this; they'd probably missed a few glaring waiters, anxious for them to stop laughing so loudly and just go home.

Speaking of going home, Kurt had forgotten the protocol for asking a guy back to your apartment when you actually kind of liked him and didn't just want a quick fuck.

Not that he was planning on marrying the guy. But…he'd had fun tonight, as _himself_ , which really said something. Maybe this could…be a thing. A thing that lasted more than one date. A thing where he really wanted to ask Dave back to his apartment and find out if he really did know all the words to Billy Joel's _We Didn't Start The Fire_ (but only with the music) and if he was kidding when he said he'd never seen _Avengers._ A thing where he wanted to know how Dave took his coffee, whether he liked sleeping with the covers on or off, and whether he looked good in a suit.

Suit.

Just thinking the word sent a jolt through him as the association summoned a hundred different memories of The Fury and his ugly mecha-armor monstrosity. Oh, shit. Kurt's stomach dropped like he'd been thrown off another building. What the fuck was he _thinking?_ This was The Fury! His arch-nemesis! The guy who literally, _literally_ tried to kill him at least once a week. He was _evil!_ He was… _fuck._ Kurt had clearly had too much wine, or he'd gone completely insane in the last few hours.

"Do you want to come back to mine?" he asked, smiling sweetly. Dave's eyebrows rose, but he nodded and gave a smile that made Kurt want to punch him in the face. Or do other things to his face.

Even the taxi ride back wasn't awkward, like it usually was when he jumped into bed with someone. They just kept talking casually, pointing out random places in the area that were good to eat at as they drove past, sharing anecdotes and laughing at each other's jokes. They even had an in-joke already, something trivial about wine, but it was an _in-joke._

Kurt's apartment wasn't classy enough for a doorman, but Kurt liked to imagine one. He'd probably be giving Kurt a look of derision as he let them in. As it was, Kurt punched in a code and let Dave tentatively up the stairs, trying not to over emphasize the movements of his ass as he walked.

The second his apartment door clicked shut, Kurt span around, aiming a punch at Dave's ribs. Apparently Dave had been expecting it, because he caught Kurt's hand in his and twisted the man around so his back was trapped tight against Dave's chest.

"You know who I am." Kurt said, and then laughed darkly as Dave's eyebrows raised, his face settling into the kind of expression Kurt was used to seeing. Really, he should have known. Not once, in all of the times they'd met in combat, had The Fury been fooled by his disguises. He'd always figured he must have some sort of tic or mannerism that his rival had picked up on. "Of course you do; you _always_ know it's me."

"The second I saw you."

"You sat through the whole date."

"So did you."

There was a beat of silence. Then, Kurt ducked and leant forward into a roll, throwing Dave off in the process. Dave pulled himself to his feet quickly, but not fast enough. Kurt delivered a swift kick to his knee, knocking him down again. He let out a stream of obscenities and immediately tried to get up again, but Kurt was behind him in an instant, pressing his foot right into the small of Dave's back. It wouldn't have been impossible for Dave to get out from under him; he had a size advantage since Kurt's current body was lightweight. But to do so would require a lot of effort, and even when he was up, he'd be in the perfect position for Kurt to put him right back down again. So he stayed put, cursing quietly into the carpet.

"Not so great without your suit, huh, _Fury?"_

Dave knew what he was supposed to do now. He was supposed to answer with 'It's _The_ Fury!' and wrestle his way out of this. He was supposed to fight it out with Porcelain for a good hour or so until the guy outsmarted him and got him arrested. That was the way things worked with them. That was their ritual, their fucking little routine that they'd been performing like a damn circus act for the past two years.

He wasn't playing along anymore.

Kurt didn't know what to do, now that The Fury wasn't responding to his quip. His nemesis should have been on his feet by now, seething, yelling at Porcelain about whatever it was that pissed him off this week. But this wasn't The Fury, this was _Dave,_ and he was just lying there motionless.

Kurt wasn't going to give up that easily. Heart pounding, he stepped back slightly, and then dropped so that his knees straddled Dave's hips, locking his arms down with his hands. Feeling Dave's breath hitch, he pressed down so that his crotch was nestled snugly between Dave's buttocks. If that didn't get a reaction, Kurt didn't know what would.

"That's not part of the routine." Dave muttered, but his voice was strained. Kurt was getting to him.

"Well, since you decided not to join in, I thought I'd shake things up a little." Kurt was pressed against him, leant down so that he was practically purring in Dave's ear. "Come on, Fury. Fight back, you know you want to."

"No, I'm good here, thanks." the man beneath him answered, sounding almost bored now.

"Well, then I guess I'll have to find another way to entertain myself."

He rolled his hips against Dave, gasping slightly at how good it felt to be pressed against him. He touched his nemesis all the time, constantly punching and kicking and scratching, but even the times where he'd somehow been separated from his suit, Kurt had never allowed himself to linger like this, to enjoy the firmness of Dave's body. With a soft moan, he gave another thrust, knowing that Dave could more than likely feel that he was getting hard.

He could sense the tension in Dave's body, that terse impatience that was close to breaking point. He let his hands wander, skirting over his back and to his neck, where he could feel a slightly raised bump. Probably a tracer chip, or some sort of enhancement he'd gotten from the League; he knew Dave _had_ to have some sort of work done to even nearly keep up with his colleagues and enemies. Kurt let his fingers curl in Dave's hair. It was softer than he expected, but definitely lacked the luxury of a fastidiously groomed head of hair like Kurt's. His fingers caught the shorter hair at Dave's neck, cut and slightly spiky on his skin. He didn't mean to, but he found himself massaging, playing with his hair like a lover.

Kurt leaned flat against Dave's back, feeling the sharp thump of someone's heart. He couldn't be sure if it was Dave's or just his own. Flattening his palms against the larger man's shoulders, he pressed a kiss to the base of his neck.

That, it seemed, was enough. Dave twisted himself free, throwing Kurt clear. Kurt, of course, landed elegantly, but barely allowed his opponent to stand before he surged toward him. It looked like he meant to attack, but even as he got close enough to touch Dave he hesitated. This would usually be the part where The Fury used the kinetic force of his run up against him and sent him flying back. Strategically, Kurt pulled back slightly, arms raised in a defensive position. There he waited for the battle to commence.

But nothing happened. Dave stood, his breath a little short, his face flushed but still not moving to fight.

"Why aren't you fighting me?" Kurt shouted at him, clenching his fists. "Come _on,_ hit me!"

Dave started to move. Kurt closed his eyes in anticipation. The hit was coming, he could just feel it. Dave would punch him, he'd stagger back clutching his jaw, and then he'd take out Dave's knees again. If he brought him down hard enough, he might have enough time to cuff him and send him on his merry way.

But the blow never came. Eventually, Kurt opened his eyes, cocking his head to the side in confusion. "What is _wrong_ with you?"

"What's wrong with _me?!"_ Dave burst out, and stepped forward. Kurt braced himself again, closing his eyes, waiting for the flare of pain. But the second he did, he felt warm lips pressing against his, tentative at first, and then suddenly and inexplicably frantic.

Kurt's eyes fluttered open, staring into Dave's face. He should probably push him away, should probably punch him in the jaw and scream at him. But instead he leaned into that warmth, grabbing Dave's hair and kissing him like it was the end of the world or something equally corny like that.

This whole thing was a joke. Kurt didn't know why he didn't put an end to it right there and then. But there was something utterly, undeniably good about it, like he'd been waiting for this to happen forever, and it was like a banquet after years of starvation. Kurt told himself that this was inevitable and the fact that his hands were now sliding up Dave's shirt was just a result of poorly managed sexual tension. Clearly he just really needed to get laid, and it was super convenient that the guy he spent half his life engaged in physical combat with happened to be here, and _fuck,_ he looked good shirtless. The real criminal thing about their usual encounters was that Dave's outfit allowed for minimum body ogling.

Kurt could feel himself being tugged, both out of his clothes and into another room, all hesitancy now abandoned. He let Dave half drag him for a moment before realizing he was headed towards the bathroom instead the bedroom. "Wrong way, dumbass." Dave actually had the gall to give a sheepish grin as Kurt grabbed his arm and pulled him towards his bedroom. He managed to ignore his raging needs for half a second to muster a flutter of hesitation as he opened the bedroom door. But almost as soon as he felt the quiver of anxiety again, he quashed it in favor of getting to see Dave naked.

They stumbled and toppled onto the bed entirely inelegantly and tripped over each other's feet in an attempt to maintain as much contact as possible.

"Why the fuck are you still wearing clothes?" Dave muttered, kissing and biting along Kurt's jaw, just hard enough to sting but not enough to leave a mark.

"Because you haven't taken them off yet?"

"Oh, yeah, I should get to that." He slid his hands under Kurt's shirt, his fingers splaying over the skin as if he'd never felt skin before. He looked up and must have caught Kurt's self-conscious glance, because he smiled and tugged the shirt off. "Don't worry, I think you're hotter than usual."

Kurt pulled back slightly. "What?"

"Nothing."

"No – you said…what do you mean? You think I'm–"

"God, do you ever shut up?" Dave cut him off, and then covered Kurt's mouth with his own. Kurt attempted to speak through the kiss but Dave just pressed in further, sliding his tongue across Kurt's. Kurt bit down.

_"Ow!"_ Dave probably should have seen that coming. As he flinched away, he glanced at Kurt, half expecting him to be grinning a bloody smile after biting Dave's tongue off. But no, he was smirking, and Dave's tongue was definitely intact. "You know, you're kind of a bitch."

"Oh, I know." Kurt attached his lips to Dave's neck for a moment, sending a hot shiver through his body, "Tell me I'm hot again."

"You are," his hand traced a nipple, "the hottest guy I've ever punched in the face." He pinched, and Kurt tried very hard not to let out an embarrassing noise, but failed. "You narcissistic fuck."

Kurt would definitely have repaid that insult if Dave's hands weren't suddenly at his belt, flicking it open with ease and gripping Kurt through his exposed underwear. What was meant to be something along the lines of, 'obtuse sack of shit' turned to _'ahh, oh, fuck'._ It was not Kurt's proudest moment.

In fact, that night consisted of a lot of not-so-proud moments for Kurt. The way he let himself go to town on Dave's skin was one of them, not holding back as he left as many marks as he could muster. Where his fists would usually be bruising, now his teeth and lips strove to do the job. He just couldn't _stop_ , his hips thrusting into Dave's hand like he'd never felt the touch of another person before.

He should have been worrying about how completely idiotic this was, but instead his mind was filled with curiosities like what positions Dave would like best and how weird it is that Dave wore black boxer briefs just like he'd _totally not_ imagined a dozen times before. And, god, Kurt had never been so eager to get his hand someone's cock before. He wanted to follow etiquette and test the waters first, see what sort of touch Dave responded best to, but Dave had skipped past all of that and was beating Kurt off with such frantic intensity that Kurt had no time or patience for messing around.

Kurt had no idea how long they'd been going, or when Dave had stopped kissing him and simply leant his forehead against Kurt's. He could taste the wine they'd drunk on his breath, gasping and grunting, his mouth closing every so often as he licked his lips. Kurt's eyes were drooping like he couldn't stay conscious but really he was just too close, way too fast and he had to stay focused or he was going to come like a teenager watching the first minute of porn they'd ever seen.

He could never recall a time he got this worked up over a handjob. But there was something about Dave's relentless vigor, his hands so fucking tight around Kurt as if he were afraid that Kurt would slip away like a ghost. Something about that was pushing Kurt's buttons in a way he couldn't pinpoint. Fuck, he was going to come. How embarrassing.

"Fuck," Dave's voice caught in his throat as he half swore, half moaned. His tongue darted out to lick his lips, and Kurt was just thinking he should stop doing that and put it to better use when he found Dave's mouth against his. Yes, better.

Unaware of when he'd been pushed onto his back, Kurt found his legs wrapping around Dave's back, leaning into his touch. He wasn't going to last long enough for this to go further, but god, he suddenly wished he'd stolen the power of super sexual potency because he didn't want this to end. "Kurt…" nails dug into the back of his head, pulling his hair almost too hard, and he let out a long whine that turned into a pathetically desperate moan as Kurt's hips began to spasm.

"I can't…aah, Dave, I can't–" He choked out, pulling back from Dave's kiss. He was so close, his body yearning so much to come but trying to hold it in. He'd always thought the idea of his body 'screaming with pleasure' was a trashy erotica cliché, but his muscles ached, his throat was hoarse, and god, his dick felt _ravished._ His fingers gripped Dave with the kind of force that would make some guys cry, but Dave did nothing but moan and thrust harder. Kurt could feel their bodies tensing together, and then he was lost to everything, grasping at his last thread of reason, strung tight to breaking point.

"It's okay," Dave intoned, "come for me."

Kurt's resolve snapped. Dave's, too, because Kurt was coming right in front of his eyes and Dave wasn't slowing down, catching Kurt's hips as they spasm, running his thumb over the head of Kurt's wet cock as it twitched and leaked. His eyes fixed on Kurt's face, watching every shudder, the way his eyes squeezed shut and how he climaxed with Dave's name on his lips. It was too much, and soon after Dave was gone too, thrusting hard into Kurt's hand and trying to disguise the unabashed pleasure in his moans, as if he hadn't been craving this for months. Rasping breaths filled the dark silence of the room. A soft, keening moan interjected as Kurt shifted slightly, wriggling his toes under a cover, and just about summoned the energy to yank the sheets over them.

Fat lines of cum decorated their hands and stomachs, smeared away as they lay collapsed, boneless, beside each other.


	4. The Mourning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McKinleyopolis has always had two sides. Porcelain’s a good guy and The Fury is his arch nemesis. It’s that simple… right? Kurtofsky, Kurt/Karofsky, Superhero AU.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I apologise for taking so long at writing this chapter...I am so unproductive I almost write backwards.

****

 

* * *

 

**Chapter IV – The Mourning After**

 

Waking up naked next to his arch nemesis did _not_ denote a normal Saturday morning for Kurt.

A normal Saturday would usually begin with him checking his phone for texts from the Agency, crawling out of bed and laying out today's outfit on his bed. He'd catch up on the latest supernews, throw The Fury's name into the search engine to make sure he hadn't missed anything his nemesis had done, and then probably end up jerking off in the shower thinking of thick, armor clad thighs and trying not to admit to developing some sort of twisted The Fury/Iron Man fetish because of a certain douchebag who happened to rip off Tony Stark's fictional costume.

Well, Kurt sure liked to think about ripping off The Fury's armor.

After frantically pushing all of _those_ thoughts aside even as the evidence was swirling down his drains, he'd usually begin his beauty routine while blasting Lady Gaga on his iPod. He'd get ready slowly because it takes time to look that good, and he'd always get a sturdy breakfast, since fighting bad guys takes a lot of energy. He had his routines, and he stuck with them fairly consistently

But not today. Today was…different.

"Morning." Dave murmured into his pillow, obviously feeling Kurt's movements. Kurt stared at him, slack jawed.

Without the hazy stupidity of arousal, it became abundantly clear to Kurt what an absolute shitfest this was going to turn into. Because last night was probably the most stupid thing he'd ever done in his life. Though, he concluded bitterly, probably not even close to the most stupid thing his moronic nemesis had done, given that he had clearly been dropped on the head as a child. Multiple times.

"Is that all you have to say?" he demanded, "We slept together last night! We – you and I, arch enemies, _slept together!"_

"Yeah." Dave stretched his arms out, and Kurt could hear the joints popping. "That was probably a mistake."

"Damn right it's a mistake! I was meant to arrest you! I was meant…oh, god, I let you in my home, I let you in my _bed!_ What was I thinking?!"

"You weren't." Dave said, in the tone of a man who really just wanted to go back to sleep. "I reckon before people have sex, pretty much all they think is _I want to have sex."_

"I didn't want to have sex with you."

"Could've fooled me." Kurt did _not_ notice the little ass-wiggle Dave gave as he smooshed his head back into a pillow, closing his eyes.

"I would hardly call mutual handjobs followed by passing out _sex_ anyway." Kurt insisted, indignant.

Dave gave a cheeky smirk, "Well, I've been told that putting out on a first date sends the wrong message, so I try my best not to."

Kurt kicked him in the leg. "You are so infuriating!"

"In _-fury-_ ating?"

 _"Argh!"_ Kurt threw the covers off himself and jumped out of bed, glaring as Dave opened his eyes to catch a glimpse of his naked ass. Though, honestly, if there was one thing he liked about his original body, it was his ass. It was a good ass.

"I just can't believe I would let myself…how could I be so… _ugh!_ I must have been out of my mind last night to even _think_ about having sex with you."

Dave let out a snort that was totally unattractive and not cute at all. "Don't pretend you haven't thought about it before."

"Ex _cuse_ me?"

"Oh, come on." Dave gave the most annoying eyebrow wiggle Kurt had ever seen.

"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

"Sure." Dave replied, sarcastically. "You know, I've thought about it before too."

"Of course _you_ have, I'm gorgeous."

" _Ouch._ " Dave clutched his heart, but he was still smirking. "It's your real name, isn't it? Kurt." Kurt pretended not to notice the sudden deflection in the conversation. He'd probably offended Dave by insinuating he wasn't as hot as Kurt was. _Good._ He just wished it had knocked that irritating smirk off Dave's face.

"Yes." Kurt admitted, because Dave seemed to know he was right anyway, "Is Dave yours?"

Ha! There was a sudden change in expression; Dave looked mildly uncomfortable. He clearly hadn't clocked that this worked both ways. "Yeah. Please don't track me down."

Kurt pulled a face as he picked up a pair of boxer briefs off the floor. He shot Dave a glare, as if it wasn't Kurt himself who had removed them and thrown them on the floor. "Why would I need to track you down when I have you right here?" He teased, flicking the underwear at Dave.

Dave had no shame as he whipped off the bedsheets, picked up and slipped into the jeans he'd been wearing last night, stuffing his underwear in a pocket. Kurt pretended to be completely occupied in his own clothes and not at all watching Dave.

"What, so you're going to phone up your friends and have me arrested?" Dave challenged, "How're you going to explain the fact that I'm at your house at eight in the morning?"

"I'm not really going to have you arrested, you troglodyte." Kurt muttered, rolling his eyes. "And I'm not going to track you down. It's against policy."

"Policy." Dave muttered. "Of course. Anything about fraternizing with the enemy in there?"

"They may have mentioned it, yes." Kurt answered through gritted teeth. He started to walk towards the bedroom door. "I'm going to make breakfast. I assume you want some." Then, he flounced off to the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, "There's a shower in my en suite if you want it. Don't use all the hot water!"

Dave wondered what Kurt would do to him if he did use all the hot water, and then contemplated making a quip about them showering together to make sure that didn't happen, but it was way too late by the time he'd thought of it. Instead, he just smirked to himself at his own sharp wit, and stripped off the jeans he'd only just put on, in favor of smelling slightly better. Some remnants of their night still lingered on his stomach, and he could really use a mirror because his neck hurt like hell and he was pretty sure Kurt had broken the flesh there at least once.

Okay, so maybe that was a little overdramatic, but Dave's neck did look like he'd spent the night with Dracula after a tooth blunting operation. Purple marks decorated his skin, having bruised worryingly quickly. Jesus, the little shit had _marked_ him. Well, not that he hadn't done that before. Thinking about it, Dave could recall several times where Kurt had scratched him or left particularly nasty bruises in obvious places whenever Dave's amour had been compromised. Possessive bastard. Dave itched the back of his neck nervously, realizing that he'd have to stay covered up so that the media didn't catch on. Maybe he should request that Kurt leave his armor intact the next time they fought.

Kurt had a fancy bathroom filled with way too many beauty products for a man who can change his appearance at will. Dave enjoyed a quick shower, drew a dick on Kurt's steamed up mirror, and after reluctantly changing back into last night's clothes, headed to the kitchen. He was, however, still shirtless because he wasn't exactly sure where in Kurt's room it had been flung last night.

Kurt was already buttering toast when Dave walked into the kitchen, and the smell of bacon and sausages was wafting through the room.

"How do you like your eggs?"

"Did you seriously just say that?" Dave couldn't help but laugh, despite everything. This whole situation was pretty ridiculous. "Over easy. This the accepted routine of your one night stands?"

"No, usually they get a shower and then I boot them out."

"So you're really rolling out the red carpet for me then?"

Kurt's eyes narrowed dangerously. "It's all part of my plan to make sure you don't tell anyone about last night."

"Oh, so you're going to butter me up in hopes I keep my mouth shut?"

"No, I'm going to poison you." Dave's face must have dropped, because Kurt suddenly let out a sharp laugh. "I'm kidding. That was a joke."

"I wouldn't put it past you." Dave paused, ignoring the glare Kurt shot him. "So I know your real name and your true face. There's a lot I can do with that information, you know. We don't exactly run on _policy_ all that much down at the league."

"Wait, you mentioned that last night – about my face – what makes you think this is my real face?"

Kurt surveyed Dave as he considered this. The man looked a little confused, as if maybe he didn't quite know how, or just couldn't explain it. Or maybe he was just trying not to be rude, and didn't want to say that Kurt's real face was way uglier than his other guises.

"Well, it's different from your normal ones. Less–"

"Pretty?"

Dave struggled to find the words. He didn't want to be insulting…but hey, honesty is the best policy and all that. "Boring. It's less boring."

"Oh, well I'm sorry my usual faces are so lackluster!" Kurt sniffed, "Obviously you lack an eye for aesthetics."

"Maybe I do, since I think you're much better looking than your fake faces." Kurt shot him a look. "I'm just saying."

Kurt didn't know how to respond to the…compliment? "Thanks, I think." He paused for thought, "Wait, if I look so different from usual, how could you tell it was me?"

"I don't know. Mannerisms, the way you walk, just how you move…I can always tell."

"Of course you can. Hey, maybe that's your superpower!" He didn't even try to disguise the mocking tone of his voice. Dave's face twisted bitterly. "Why are you even in this business when you can't do anything special?"

"Hilarious." Dave muttered, "Yeah, make fun of the power cripple. Not all of us can transform into supermodels."

"Ugh, you make my powers sound so pathetic. I can do much more than that!" Kurt raised an eyebrow, "But you're deflecting. Why become a super villain when you're not…super?"

"It's none of your business!" Dave snapped, louder than he intended. Kurt just gave him a look that seemed to say _ooh, defensive,_ and went back to making tea. "Sorry." Dave mumbled a few moments later.

"If I didn't have powers, I'd be living a mundane life. It'd be great."

Dave's eyes cast downwards, dark and full of regret. His voice, when he spoke, was strained, "Believe me, I tried that. It's not as easy as you think."

"It can't be that hard. What's really tying you down to this life? They have villain relocation programs; you could just disappear off the radar forever."

"So could you. You have the ultimate secret identity, if you wanted to you could get a new face and find a guy to run off into the sunset with at the drop of a hat."

A beat. Was Dave suggesting…?

"A guy like you?"

Dave gave a derisive laugh, "It was one night, Fancy, not a marriage proposal. And besides, no matter what either of us say, we're going to be slugging it out in a few days, and we'll have forgotten all about this."

"I can't wait."

 

* * *

 

"An assassination?"

They'd been called into Schue's office to receive the mission personally. It happened fairly often, if the General was around he liked to talk to the teams and give out mission details if he wasn't busy. It was supposed to make the Agents feel more comfortable with their boss or something. Porcelain suspected the General just liked giving orders.

"That's right, Goldstar."

"But…" Goldstar's voice faltered; a rare occurrence. "We've never had an assassination mission before. We're not really equipped-"

"I know this is new territory for you." Schue's voice was reassuring and level, "But we want our teams to push themselves, try something new. We want to see you living up to your full potential, to see how far your powers can go." He gave a warm smile, "You'll do great, don't worry."

Porcelain had heard this sort of thing before. Schue was always trying to get his Agents to better themselves. Some sort of 'teaching moment' kind of thing. No doubt he'd got it into his mind that Porcelain and his team needed this for some reason. But the fact remained unsaid, and Porcelain felt pride blossoming inside him. This was a _promotion._

"Thank you for this opportunity." Goldstar said, puffing out her chest. She'd figured it out too. "We look forward to being a part of this mission."

The General's eyes wrinkled at the edges as he smiled. "Being part of something special makes you special, right?"

Porcelain couldn't hold back the smile, even as he realized this meant there was no way he could get caught fraternizing with D- _The Fury_ again. There was no way he was compromising his position within the Agency for something so trivial. He would have to get in touch with The Fury and make it clear there would be no more…shenanigans to be had.

"Oh, and Porcelain? You're on PR today; you have an interview with the Muckraker in ten minutes – Interview Room Three. That gives you two hours before you embark on the mission."

Porcelain tried to hide his displeasure at that. He knew that he was way overdue for PR, after all, Goldstar was always more than happy to cover for him, but he was technically obliged to do it every couple of weeks. "Thank you, sir."

The others headed to collect the pre-mission statements and sign the consent forms, while Porcelain walked to Interview Room Three. Undoubtedly, there would be photos and probing questions as always. Luckily, Porcelain had put on a new face when he left the apartment this morning, trying to ignore The Fury's gripe about how "boring" his faces looked. He was tan today, with beautiful heavy set brows and deep, dark eyes. Maybe it was the sort-of getting laid that did it, but he'd felt a bit cheeky this morning and added a saucy little hip tattoo. Not that he planned on letting anyone see it, but the details were the fun part. At least he'd look hot in the article, whenever it came out.

He recognized Jacob Ben Israel immediately. What a slimeball, he was the one who had made Goldstar and Frankenteen's relationship public even though Frankenteen desperately wanted it to stay private. And he'd once written an entire article dedicated to how Asian Persuasion was the most useless member of their team and that she should, in his words 'just stay invisible permanently, so we don't have to see her face.'

Suffice to say, Porcelain was not a fan.

"Good Morning, Mr. Porcelain." Jacob addressed him as he walked in. Porcelain gave the most sincere smile he could muster and sat down. _Mr. Porcelain,_ what the hell was that?

"Just Porcelain is fine." Porcelain replied, and tried not to think about The Fury and his annoyance at Porcelain always calling him the wrong name.

"Porcelain, then. Are you okay with me recording this?" He said this as if he hadn't turned on the recorder already.

"Of course."

"Alright." Jacob brought the recorder close to his face and gave an expression that was probably meant to convey mystery. "So you're probably one of the most elusive members of the Agency."

Porcelain could feel his lips forming a thin line already, and they were only on the first question. "I suppose you could argue that. I like to keep my private life private." He was trying to hint, but he could sense it falling on deaf ears.

"And what about the people in your private life? Do your partners know who you _really_ are?"

"Partners? Plural?"

"Ah, excuse me. It's just that there have been rumors – "

"There are _always_ rumors."

"And they usually have some truth behind them. So what about this rumor that you're somewhat…liberal with your personal relations?"

"That particular rumor is not unfounded. I like to have fun, what's the harm in that?" Porcelain was getting more and more annoyed with every word.

"Some would argue that your behavior implies moral ambiguity." Jacob was trying to avoid saying it outright, but Porcelain was well aware of the implications: Porcelain was a Good Guy, and therefore his behavior was inappropriate.

"I disagree. And even if it did imply that, my sense of morality outside of the workplace is irrelevant. It's not as if I'm _Porcelain_ outside of work."

"So, while using your civilian identity, you frequently engage in relationships?"

"I wouldn't call them relationships. But yes, I suppose so. If you must know, I enjoy connecting with people. I'm interested in people's unique attributes; you get such a range of personalities in a city like this, and it's a wonderful thing to feel connected with such fascinating people." Porcelain probably sounded a bit defensive, but it was true.

"A romantic at heart." The jaded sneer wouldn't show in a voice recording, but the tone of Jacob's voice was anything but sincere.

"I guess you could say that."

Jacob flipped the page on his notepad and waved a hand dismissively. "So let's talk about your work. Your code name, 'Porcelain,' it's a joke because you're indestructible."

"Not entirely. I'm largely impervious to blunt force."

"But smaller weapons can still hurt you."

"I'd prefer _not_ to discuss with the nation the specific ways in which I can be killed, if you don't mind." Porcelain said, probably too snappily.

"Of course, sorry about that." Jacob didn't sound the least bit sorry. "So tell me more about your primary power, since the invulnerability is more of a side-effect, correct?"

At least Porcelain didn't mind talking about his powers. They were what he was proudest of. "It's one of the powers I have assimilated over time. It was one of the first I picked up, and remains one of the most useful ones I have. But yes, my primary power is what allows me to gain powers. I can mimic people and their powers through physical contact. If I've ever touched a person, I can imitate them and usually their abilities as well."

It was difficult to perceive the look in the reporter's eyes. "That's some power."

"The only downside is that the powers I mimic are usually a lot weaker than the originals," Porcelain continued, "and I can only retain them as long as I retain the body, which, if I'm using the powers a lot, is only a few hours."

Jacob scribbled something down on his notepad and then flipped back, narrowing his eyes. "But the invulnerability, that's permanent? You don't have to change in order to use it."

Porcelain gave a proud smile, "I can assimilate some powers without the need to transform into those people, though the powers are still a little weaker."

"How?"

Well, he should have expected that question. Porcelain cleared his throat, "Um. Well, I mimic through physical contact. Permanent mimicry requires more… um. _Intimate_ contact."

"You have sex with them?"

Porcelain choked on air for a second. This was definitely getting too personal. "No! I, erm, have to kiss them."

"Oh, so you kissed someone with invulnerability and gained their powers?"

"Kind of. I mean, obviously I didn't gain all of their powers, because I'm not completely invulnerable. Because his powers were quite strong, I didn't get much. But if the powers are weaker, I can mimic them almost perfectly."

"So you have other powers too?"

Porcelain considered which powers were safe to reveal. After all, there were some things he didn't want people to know he could do. "Yeah, like I have an incredibly strong sense of smell that I got from someone a few years back. And I can manipulate hormones a little, but not very well."

"Isn't that Puckerman's power? From the League of Doom?"

"It's a long story." Jacob said nothing, so Porcelain sighed and continued, "I was in disguise as his girlfriend during a mission once and he started… well."

"Sounds like you know why they call him the Pucker Man."

Porcelain cleared his throat again, "Well, anyway, he was somewhere around a level 3. So I can retain some of his powers, but not all of them. Level 1 and 2, I can retain fully, level 3 I can usually keep about half. Anything above a level 3 and I can rarely copy any of it. Even if I could, my body just wouldn't be able to take it, it would be way too dangerous."

"So you've been intimate with a level 4 before?"

Porcelain tried very hard to keep his voice level, "I would have thought you'd be able to figure that much out yourself."

"Any chance you'd give us a name? Or is it a secret?"

He let out a laugh, "It's hardly a secret, half of our organization has slept with Sebastian Smythe."

"The billionaire?"

Porcelain tried to stop himself from rolling his eyes, "No, the used car salesmen."

"But he's a supervillain. Isn't that against policy?" Jacob was raising an eyebrow as if he didn't already know the answer, and wasn't just trying to stir up trouble. Porcelain was losing patience.

"Our policy relates only to villains associated with the League of Doom. Smythe's a freelancer, and technically I think he's supposed to be a hero now. I can't remember, he switches sides so often." He knew the policies and so did the reporter. Porcelain had seen him pulling this kind of crap before and he'd had enough.

"Bet you wouldn't have minded picking up some of his particle manipulation?" Now, Jacob Ben Israel was wearing a snide smile that creeped Porcelain out.

"I suppose it's an impressive power." He answered, between gritted teeth.

Jacob's eyebrows raised innocently, and still wearing that smile, he said, "It's a shame you slept with him for nothing."

Porcelain stood up, scraping his chair back loudly. "I think this interview is over."

He didn't look back to see what expression the reporter was wearing, but he was sure it would compel him to hit the man in the face. And that was _definitely_ against policy.

 

* * *

  

**_Four Hours Later_ **

The assassination was, so far, not going well.

It was great that they were being offered a promotion and all, but as Porcelain attempted watched Frankenteen being attacked by three ninjas simultaneously, it was blindingly obvious that this was way beyond their capabilities.

Also, the General hadn't mentioned anything about the _ninja bodyguards._ Why did no one ever mention the ninja bodyguards?!

"Frankenteen! Can you see the target?" Goldstar shouted over to the giant who was swatting at the ninjas with one of his huge hands.

"Kind of busy!" he barked back, but strained his neck to look anyway. "He's running!"

"Well, obviously he's running, we're trying to _assassinate_ him." Porcelain muttered, before dodging a rogue ninja jumping at him. He was really _not_ in the mood for this. Well, that wasn't quite true; he definitely felt like killing someone, but that someone was Jacob Ben Israel, who was unfortunately not their target. Their target was a middle-aged man who was soft around the stomach and looked perpetually worried. Which was appropriate, because as Porcelain had already stated, they were trying to assassinate him. Apparently he was _really_ evil or something, but Porcelain didn't see it. He looked like he worked in a cubicle and he was wearing green sneakers and a tie with tiny rubber ducks on it. Bad guys didn't wear green sneakers and ties with tiny rubber ducks on them.

Still, appearances could be deceiving; if the Agency wanted this guy dead, he must have done something really, really awful. They didn't assassinate until at least eight other options had been executed, and one of those was forced rehabilitation and power restriction. If neither of those had worked, this guy was a serious threat to the world.

Plus, he had ninja bodyguards.

One of which was currently attacking Porcelain. He jumped back and avoided another blow to the face, before dropping to the ground and landing a swift kick to the ninja's knee. He heard a crack and watched them fall to the ground. One down. Before Porcelain could move, he caught movement in the corner out of his eye and barely dodged a ninja coming crashing towards him. This time he went for the wrist, catching it and snapping it with ease before kneeing the ninja in the crotch. Underhanded, but it worked. Porcelain was in far too bad a mood to care.

"I've got him!" Frankenteen's voice echoed through the alley, where the target was cornered, sat on the floor looking pathetic. Porcelain ran towards them as fast as he could, getting there just in time to watch Frankenteen topple to the floor. Panicking, he checked for injuries before he could even secure the target, but the giant was just…asleep.

"What did you do to him?" Porcelain demanded, rounding on the man. He grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him to his feet.

"He'll be fine, I swear! I…he's…he was trying to kill me!"

"What did you _do?!"_

"I just…don't worry. Don't worry."

And suddenly, Porcelain didn't worry. It was as if all the panic he'd been feeling was just washed away by an inexplicable wave of calm. He could feel a happy, contented smile forming on his face and he had no idea _why._

"It's going to be okay. Just, take a step back." The man said, and Porcelain did exactly as he was told, still smiling as if he didn't have a care in the world. But it felt wrong, something was _wrong_ and he couldn't figure out what. "Now…now turn around and leave."

"No! Porcelain, stop!" Every muscle in his body seized for a moment as Porcelain heard Goldstar's words. Suddenly, he realized what was happening. "Sorry, I know I shouldn't use my powers on you, but –"

"It's okay, he did it first."

Goldstar turned to the man, "You know we're here to kill you."

"I know." The target replied, still looking terrified. "You're just following orders, you don't understand what's happening here. You don't have to do this."

"Shut up!" Goldstar shouted, and Porcelain, who was about to say something, felt his mouth clamp shut even though the order wasn't directed at him.

"Boy, help me." Porcelain's feet began to move until he was standing in front of the man, a barrier between them. It was awful, his body was slipping out of his control the more the two commanded him.

It was a stalemate; both Goldstar and the man seemed impervious to each other's powers, and Porcelain just obeyed both of them.

"Porcelain, shift into him! See if you can access his powers!" Goldstar suddenly barked.

"Don't!" The man shouted, but it was too late, Porcelain could already feel himself inhabiting the body. And as he did, he let out a deep breath. Whatever influences the two of them had over him was gone.

"I'm immune." He sighed.

"Can you use his powers?"

Porcelain searched for any trace of power that he could use, but there was nothing. Even though this body was naturally resistant to the power, Porcelain couldn't actively access anything. The powers were too strong, and out of his range.

"Sorry, nothing."

"Fine. You, sit down." She pointed to their target. The man's eyebrows furrowed. He was struggling, which meant that Goldstar was more powerful than him. "I said, _sit down."_

The man shook, and so did Porcelain. Whatever immunity he had mimicked, it wasn't fully effective against Goldstar.

"Sit down." She said again, and Porcelain's legs buckled. Goldstar's eyes were locked with the target, and Porcelain could see his resolve breaking.

But even as Porcelain was sure the man would falter, he suddenly seemed to gain a burst of energy, "I won't." he said, and before anyone could react, he had whipped out a knife and had it at Porcelain's throat. "You may be immune to me, but you can't resist her."

"Yeah? And if I can't, neither can you."

"I don't want to die." The man said feebly.

"Will you kill me to stay alive?"

The man hesitated. Porcelain couldn't help but look at his tie with the little rubber ducks on it. "Yes." And he gripped the knife tight and-

" _STOP!"_ Goldstar screamed, and the knife fell to the ground. The man let out what sounded like a sob. "Porcelain, ignore this. Target, pick up the knife," Goldstar ordered, and the man did it. "and stab yourself in the stomach." Her voice shook, but it was still powerful.

Knife in hand, the man was sweating and shaking, but his mouth twisted into a gentle smile. "Silly girl. You can't persuade a person to kill themselves. It's against their survival instincts, no one can override those."

"Maybe not." There was a wild look in Goldstar's that scared Porcelain. She was desperate, desperate for The General's approval, desperate for acknowledgement. "Tina, shoot him."

The shot came out of thin air. Invisible air. And there was silence as Asian Persuasion materialized, a look of horror on her face. "Wh- what…what did you make me _do!?"_ She screeched, staring down at the gun in her hand. In the whole time they'd been in a team together, Tina had never fired her gun. And now…

Now, the nameless man they were pursuing was slumped against the wall, blood soaking his shirt, and Tina had shot him.

Asian Persuasion disappeared again with a noise that hurt Porcelain's heart. It was the sound of a person whose free will had been taken away. It was the sound of a person who had just been made a murderer. Porcelain heard her run.

"Oh my god, oh my god. What have I done?!" Goldstar looked like she was about to vomit. "I…I'll get Tina…I…oh my _god."_

The man looked even less evil when he was lying on the flood, bleeding to death.

Porcelain felt himself slip into his other body again. He knew now that this man wasn't a threat. Porcelain knelt down and put his hands on the man's chest where the bullet had gone through. That was what you were supposed to do, right? Apply pressure, stop the bleeding? Or what if he was pushing the bullet further in? Was the bullet even still in there?

"I…I don't know what to do…" he said, and he could feel the tears welling up in his eyes even as he blinked them back.

"It's too late for me, kid. Don't…don't worry." His words didn't have the same impact they'd had before.

"What did you _do?"_

"I tried to do the right thing… never seems to work out that way. I'm too powerful, you know? …powers like this…they can hurt people…"

Porcelain looked at the blood quickly working through the man's shirt. "Yeah, I can see _that."_

"Can you? Can you really see?" his eyes were starting to lose focus, and Porcelain knew it wouldn't be long. "I need to tell you…but they're watching…I can't say too much or they'll come after you too."

"They? Who are they? The League of Doom?"

"They're going to try and steal it soon, mark my words. And if they do…if they get their hands on that kind of power, they'll be unstoppable."

"Who are you talking about? Who will be unstoppable?!"

Blood bubbled up in the man's mouth, and he didn't even seem to notice. "He doesn't really care about you. He's using you, and he'll use them too. You can't trust him."

Porcelain's heart stopped for a moment. Did this guy read minds? How could he possibly know about… "You mean…Dave?"

"Can you…pass my jacket? I…I'm cold." Kurt grabbed the man's coat, which he'd lost during the fight, as well as one of his green sneakers. He wrapped the jacket around him, trying to ignore the blood quickly seeping through it. Then, he reached for the shoe and tried to put it on, but the man was frantically shaking his head.

"It's on the other foot." He gave a smile. "The shoe is…on…the other foot."

And Kurt clutched the green sneaker to his chest, trying not to cry over a man with ducks on his tie, a man whose name he didn't even know, a man who died smiling.


	5. Fraternizing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McKinleyopolis has always had two sides. Porcelain's a Good Guy and The Fury is his arch nemesis. It's that simple… right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, it's been 3 years since I updated this?! I might be the slowest writer ever!! Sadly, our little fandom is very quiet these days, but these boys will always be in my heart <3

 

** **

* * *

 

**Chapter V - Fraternizing**

 

Porcelain meant to beat the shit out of The Fury, he really did.

After what he was very dramatically calling  _The Incident_  the day before, Porcelain really, really needed to let off some steam. And beating the shit out of The Fury was how he usually let off steam.

The worst thing about The Incident is that The Agency had commended them at their return. All day, people who Porcelain didn't even know were patting him on the back and telling him what a great hero he was. He didn't feel much like a hero. But that's where the whole beating up The Fury thing came in. When they got the call the next day that his team was causing trouble again, Porcelain jumped on the chance even though it wasn't technically his shift. Apparently the rest of his team were feeling the same as him, since they also turned up, save for Goldstar.

"She's fine," Frankenteen said when Porcelain asked him, "I mean, she said she's fine."

"Fi- Frankenteen," Porcelain corrected himself, remembering that the big lug wasn't his stepbrother in here. "When are you ever going to learn? When a person says they're fine, they're probably  _not_ fine."

"But then what do they say when they  _are_  fine?"

Porcelain felt himself involuntarily rubbing his temple, and tried hard not to sigh in frustration. "They say they're great or good, or something that sounds better than 'fine.' Fine is not a positive thing."

"Girls are so complicated."

Now he did sigh. "Not that complicated. You should tell her how you feel."

"I- what?" Frankenteen paused and contemplated this for a little while. "You really think I should tell her? Like, today?"

Porcelain considered slapping him. "Oh my god, Finn.  _No_ , not…you are just the worst…wait until  _after_  she's over the fact that she murdered a guy yesterday."

" _She_ murdered a guy?" Asian Persuasion's voice piped out of nowhere, "I don't know if you were paying attention yesterday, but it was me who fired the gun. It's me who has to carry that guilt." She materialized, and Porcelain could tell immediately that she had been crying. Her eyes were red and she had dark bags under them like she'd had no sleep at all. Not that Porcelain expected any differently. What Goldstar had done was  _not_ okay.

Porcelain stepped towards Asian Persuasion and tried to lay a hand on her shoulder, but she disappeared before he could reach her. "It's not your fault." He murmured, "Goldstar  _made_  you. And besides…" Porcelain couldn't believe what he was about to say, "we were just following orders." He glanced towards Frankenteen, waiting for confirmation.

"Right…yeah. Right." The huge guy's face twisted into confusion and he opened his mouth to ask something else but Porcelain was already out of the door.  


* * *

 Porcelain didn't even know what they were supposed to be stopping The Fury's team from doing. He hadn't listened during the briefing earlier and, well, he didn't really give a damn. He just wanted to take his anger out on his enemy.

Whatever they were doing involved moving a very large box, and when Porcelain and his team descended upon them, they looked almost shocked.

"How do you fuckers always get here so fast?" Z shouted, tossing an icicle in Porcelain's direction. Tina disappeared and headed towards Snixx, but she was caught off guard by a barrage of psychic razors. Snixx was not screwing around today. Frankenteen stretched and barreled towards her, avoiding most of her attacks and deflecting the others. A guy his size was not easily brought down.

That left Porcelain to deal with Z before he could get The Fury alone. Not much of a challenge. He could mimic his powers now, so he just needed to be clever.

"Hey Elsa!" Porcelain called out, and he could see Z's face already twitching with anger. "Do you want to build a snowman?"

"You little shit!" Z shouted, and sprinted towards him. Porcelain reached back in his mind and felt for the coldness of Z's power, tucked away from the last time he touched him. Before Z could even react, Porcelain had already turned into him and laid down a thick layer of black ice below his feet. He only had to watch as the chubby guy slipped and cracked his head on the ground.

"Well, that was easy." Porcelain muttered, staring at the collapsed villain on the floor. He relaxed back into his other body, feeling the cold slip away from inside him.

"Frozen references, really?" The Fury, watching from the sideline, stared at him, unimpressed. 'That's just not cool."

"I thought it was very  _cool_ , actually." Porcelain said, smirking to himself. The Fury deadpanned. "Oh come  _on,_ I thought you loved puns."

The Fury scoffed, "Yeah, when they're good. That was embarrassing."

"Ooh, that hurt. I guess we'd better get down to this, huh Fury?" Porcelain felt his face fall into an easy smile, but his hands clenched into fists and he assumed a fighting position.

The Fury took his place too. "It's  _The_ Fury." He growled out, readying himself for an onslaught.

Porcelain was powerful and relentless. He worked The Fury beyond his physical capabilities almost every time they fought, and today was no different. If he wasn't wearing his armor, The Fury would have been annihilated. But thankfully, he was wearing it, which meant that he could, as usual, put up a mean fight.

Porcelain ducked and dodged and weakened The Fury's armor at its most vulnerable parts. Every time he moved, he felt a little better about what had happened the day before, until he was completely distracted. His mind began to wander to other recent ventures, and Porcelain felt a pang of something else. He was familiar with this, and it was something he'd been denying for quite some time that he got off on playing this game with The Fury. Porcelain could feel his body flooding with warmth, his cheeks heating up with equal parts arousal and embarrassment. He was thankful to everything holy and unholy that he had such precise control over his body's physicality.

The Fury tried desperately to land a hit, until a fire blast knocked Porcelain flat on his back. He closed in to draw a final blow and at least put Porcelain out for a few hours. The Fury leant down, but before he knew it, he was being dragged into a dodgy side alley, just out of the watchful eye of the cameras that filmed almost every interaction between the villains and heroes and published it on hero watch shows.

"Kiss me," Porcelain whispered, and The Fury pulled his helmet back and complied, quickly, mindful of the cameras lurking nearby. Porcelain pressed himself against The Fury, and he only wished he could feel his body without the suit. "I've been thinking about you ever since last week." He admitted, "Wanted to feel you again."

"I was thinking about you too." The Fury murmured. "Mostly in bed. Thinking about your cock and how much I want to suck it."

Porcelain rolled his eyes, but he was smirking, "How romantic."

"I'm old fashioned like that." The Fury shrugged.

"Well," Porcelain leant in close enough that The Fury could feel his breath on his cheek, and used his attained powers to shift some hormone levels around. "If you can get us away from a monitored area, we could get old fashioned together."

The Fury raised an eyebrow, offering a cheeky smile. "Aren't many cams around today, we'd only need to head out a mile or so."

"Got a plan?"

"Toxigenesis." The Fury announced. Porcelain stared at him, trying not to look like he was impressed at him using such a complicated word. After all, he didn't want to seem condescending, not if it compromised the opportunity to get his cock sucked.

"What about it?" he asked, carefully.

The Fury waved his hands, offering encouragement, "It's one of your powers, right? You can create toxic smoke screens and shit."

"So I make a smoke screen and we bolt?"

"Pretty much."

Porcelain considered it for a moment, concluded that he didn't have any better ideas, and shrugged. "Alright. Put your helmet on."

He closed his eyes and tried to remember the face of the guy who'd possessed toxigenesis. He'd been some random hookup that Porcelain didn't even realize had powers until he accidently mimicked his powers and began secreting toxins while they were having sex. Both of them had ended up in hospital. Porcelain still couldn't recall his face, though. He was blonde, maybe?

Porcelain concentrated on the power instead, remembering how it felt: dark but soft at the same time. If asked how to describe what a power actually  _felt_ like, Porcelain would say anywhere from spiky to squishy, big or small. Blaine's power felt like a blanket wrapped too tight around your body, and Puckerman's like the nervous twinge in your stomach. Z's was cold and hard, and he imagined Snixx's to be hot and sharp, though he couldn't mimic her powers.

He allowed the toxins to fill him and escape slowly, through his mouth and nose mostly but also through his skin. It was as easy as breathing. As soon as he had it, it was as if the power had always been his.

And just like that, they were covered. They barely talked as they made their way across the city, heading for an area they knew wouldn't be covered by the cameras. The journey was quick enough that they knew the fight would probably still be going on. But they didn't have much more time before someone noticed. It was not unusual for heroes and villains to go off grid during a fight, but Porcelain was fairly high profile and his teammates were pretty clingy. He glanced around at the area and decided against a side alley, despite the time limit.

"Hotel?" Porcelain waved a hand at a particularly seedy looking place that definitely sold rooms by the hour.

The Fury nodded. "We have to be quick, your squad's probably already looking for you."

"I'm sure we can manage that." Porcelain smirked. "I'll change my face, you need to pack your suit up and put up a hood or something."

"Ashamed of me?" The Fury joked, but not really.

"Obviously." As Porcelain rolled his eyes, The Fury watched them change from a dark brown to a bright green. His face shifted and The Fury couldn't look away as the features morphed into softer ones. He wondered if he was intentionally changing to look just a little bit more like that face he'd used before, his real one. Their eyes met for a moment before The Fury looked away, clicking the button to retract his suit. Suddenly, for the second time that week, he was leaving himself completely defenseless against his greatest enemy.

He wondered if it was okay that it felt so natural.  


* * *

Kurt had always prided himself on being classy but apparently his dick didn't share his opinion. And that was pretty much all that was driving him at the moment, he was ashamed to admit. He walked in and booked an hour at reception by a rather sleazy looking man who looked like he could be a former supervillain. If Kurt hadn't been so desperate to rip Dave's clothes off again, he would definitely object to the grossness of everything but he just didn't care at that minute. Even the combination of his body manipulation and hormone powers were just not doing enough to curb his needs, and he was already regretting passing up on the side alley.

"Come on," he groaned at Dave, who was taking far too long lugging around his case. It was actually his suit compacted into what looked like carry on luggage, which meant it was really very heavy, but Kurt figured that if he could wear it, he should be able to carry it more efficiently than this. Or maybe he was just feeling impatient.

In the questionable room, Dave threw his case to the ground with a thump and a slightly concerning cracking sound. He had his hands at Kurt's shirt before he even got to the bed, lifting it up over his head. Kurt's hands had already begun to wonder to the semi-loose sweatpants Dave wore under his armor. He ducked down and inhaled for a moment, before nuzzling Dave's dick through his underwear.

Kurt felt Dave moan softly above him, and as he pulled the fabric away, he couldn't help but feel proud of himself for reducing Dave to this state already. Not that he was feeling particularly in control, as Dave lifted him up by the hips and practically dragged him down onto the bed. Before he knew it, he was face down on the bed and his ass was exposed to the air. Dave had him pinned, running kisses up his spine until he eventually flipped him over again. Kurt could feel that his knees were trembling, his cock hard and aching to be touched.

"Didn't you say something about sucking my-" Kurt began to say but gasped as Dave took him into his mouth almost violently. He reached out blindly, his head tipping back in a mix of relief and frustration, gripping the side of Dave's head and pulling at his hair.

"Oh fuck," he murmured, and he was sure Dave would have made some sort of comment about how desperate he sounded, had his mouth not been otherwise occupied. He was, however, busy navigating Kurt's cock like a fucking pro, and Kurt was far too close to the edge after mere minutes. He let his eyes fall shut and he already saw white spots dancing in the darkness. "Wait…wait!" He gasped out before he actually lost control, grabbing Dave by the head and pulling him off. "I…I want to…I want to do it too." he croaked.

"I'm not going to argue with that." Dave replied, his voice already a little raw.

"Let's make it a little more exciting though." Kurt's mouth twisted into a cheeky smile as he hopped off the bed and began to rummage around the small bag he'd thrown on the floor on his way in. He emerged with handcuffs, and Dave made an incomprehensible noise.

"You kinky fucker." Dave said, smiling. "You want to be the cop or the robber?"

Kurt rolled his eyes as he pulled the cuffs open and placed them around Dave's wrist, "Well, I am the good guy. And…" he looked almost embarrassed to say it, but he couldn't help but smile, "You've been very bad."

"Oh, now you're playing dirty." Dave groaned as Kurt attached the other end to the bed frame and locked Dave into place.

"Maybe if you're very good, I'll let you go." Kurt intoned as he climbed onto Dave. "Now let me just…" he composed himself in a pose he was not unfamiliar with. It wasn't the most comfortable position for Dave, but he wasn't complaining, especially when Kurt started going down on him. Luckily, Kurt was flexible enough to pull off a 69 position while his partner was cuffed to the headboard.

Dave took Kurt back into his mouth, while attempting to use his free hand to cup his balls with limited success. It was hard to concentrate when Kurt was working him with his mouth and both hands, a constant barrage of pleasure, adding to the absolutely obscene noises he was making. Every lick and suck was accompanied by a little moan or whimper, like Kurt was keening out of pure pleasure. Dave very carefully brushed his shaft with the edge of his teeth and felt Kurt's groan resonate through his body. Both of them knew this wouldn't take long.

And at probably the very same moment, both of them realized that this was a competition too. Neither of them said anything, but they both knew someone was going to win this. Dave felt Kurt's lips getting tighter, like he was focusing. He honed in on every sensitive part Dave had, brushing the tips of his fingers along Dave's upper thigh as he took him in all the way. As he nearly blacked out, Dave briefly wondered if Kurt had transformed away his gag reflex.

Kurt had been closer for longer, and Dave could already taste the precum leaking out of him, but he had extremely precise control of his body. Determined to win, Dave pulled away for a moment to pop a finger from his free hand into his mouth, and then ran his tongue along the slit of Kurt's dick, feeling him shudder. He reached behind him and very gently began to circle his sphincter. Kurt reacted predictably, twitching and moaning, so Dave pressed a little harder.

"Oh, fuck, Dave!" Kurt pulled away, and then his whole body was tensing. Dave knew he was close, and he took as much of Kurt's cock into his mouth as he could. "Dave, I'm – oh  _God!"_ was all Kurt managed before hot liquid shot down Dave's throat. Dave moved back a little, feeling a little of Kurt's cum drip down his chin. Kurt still had his head back, his mouth open but making no sound. He stayed like that, panting, for a few moments, before his eyes opened, half lidded, and he stared at Dave.

"You win." His voice was deliciously raspy, and his legs were wobbly as he repositioned himself near Dave's lap. "I guess this is your prize." Dave couldn't help but run his fingers through Kurt's soft hair as he leaned down again to suck him, this time, looking up at Dave. It was too much of a sight to see; Dave knew he wouldn't last long. Kurt was still making those lewd noises, and now he had Dave's legs spread and his hands just seemed to be everywhere. Kurt could obviously tell he was close, because he took Dave in all the way to the base, and Dave let out a stream of swear words. Kurt moved his mouth on Dave almost gracefully, like he was making a goddamn art form out of the blowjob.

"Kurt…Kurt…" Dave gasped out, his hands clenching in Kurt's hair. "I'm so close…fuck,  _fuck."_ He threw his head back and let out a moan that sounded almost pained. "I want to… Kurt…I want to…"

Dave was on the edge, and he had to use all of his remaining will power to pull Kurt off him. Kurt looked up at him, almost offended, but Dave looked him dead in the eye. "I want to cum on your face." He muttered, almost expecting Kurt to slap him, but Kurt only offered a dirty grin.

"Who's kinky now?" he said, leaning back as Dave took himself in his hands. Kurt licked his lips and then bit one seductively. "Well, go on then, cum for me."

Dave worked himself furiously, eyes fixed on Kurt's. He was so close.

Kurt flashed a smile at him, and leant in a little closer. "Go  _on,_ cum for me!" and then he opened his mouth ever so slightly, expectantly, and that was it. Dave felt heat rush through his body, and his cum spattered Kurt's face, little droplets hanging off every part of him. White liquid coated his lips, and Kurt's tongue darted out to collect it.

Dave's body fell against the bed, and he couldn't have moved even if he wanted to. He felt like there was a weight on his whole body, warm and heavy. His breath came in gasps, and his free hand fell to the bed, lifeless.

Kurt wiped his face swiftly with the bed sheet. Then, he took a step back, smirking at the sight of Dave chained up and vulnerable. His breaths were heavy and his eyes were closed. His cheeks were stained red, and his lips were plump and pink from his excursions. He vaguely thought of all the things he could do with a man in this position. He thought about how easy it would be to vent his frustrations on The Fury. He thought about how satisfying it was to be in a position of power over his greatest enemy. He knew all of this, but the only thing he really wanted to do was to lean down there and kiss the man until his lips were raw.

Kurt considered all the options.

And then he left.

* * *

 It was a real bitch getting out of those handcuffs. Of course, Dave had plenty of practice. Even without his handy laser, he could do it…but it really fucking hurt. He debated calling for help, before dismissing the idea. So he had to basically break his thumb.

He was going to  _kill_ Kurt, that motherfucker.

When Dave finally made it back to his apartment, Azimio and Santana had already broken in and were watching TV. It was almost as if they actually cared about him and had come to check he was okay, but in a totally selfish way. Was that Chinese food?

"Hi guys." Dave grumbled, chucking his case onto the floor. "I'm going to guess we lost?"

"Uh, yeah!" Azimio replied, rolling his eyes. He motioned towards a bag of food on the counter. "That's yours. They didn't have the meat spring rolls so I just went for the veggie ones."

"Thanks." Dave started rooting around in the bag, thankful at least that Azimio knew what to order for him.

"So what the hell happened to you?" Santana called over. "We thought Porcelain might have actually murdered you in a side alley." If it wasn't for the uncaring tone, Dave would be touched.

"Sadly not." Dave groaned, shoving way too much prawn toast in his mouth. His friends stared at him impatiently as he tried to swallow it all. "He led me off and knocked me out. Handcuffed me to a fucking fire escape and left me there. Little bitch."

"Oh, again? Didn't he do that last month?" Dave nodded, and Santana let out a snide laugh, "I think he might just be kinky. You'd better watch your ass, he might take advantage one day."

"Hilarious, Santana. Fuck you." Dave would have flipped her the bird if he wasn't too busy with his food.

"Really, though, did you see that article today? He totally slept with Sebastian Smythe. As if Night-turd wasn't bad enough, Porcelain has  _terrible_  taste in men!"

Dave felt his cheeks flush, and tried to move the conversation away from  _that_  particular subject, "Didn't you murder Nightbird?"

"Mnn." Santana murmured in agreement, "He was  _really_  annoying. Remember when he broke your suit?"

Dave groaned, "At least he never handcuffed me to anything."

"I can't believe he took me down with my own powers!" Azimio suddenly interjected, probably trying to avoid thinking about Dave handcuffed. "Beaten by black ice, what the fuck, man!" He paused for a moment, "Damn, Black Ice. That should have been my code name. Why didn't I think of that?"

"Does it count as racism if you're the one who came up with it?" Dave muttered into his chow mein.

"You know, you're being particularly bitchy today. Is it because Porcelain beat your ass?"

Dave could feel anger flare up inside him and just barely resisted throwing his food at Azimio and storming off. "I swear if you say that again, I'll beat  _your_  ass."

"Wanky." Santana chimed in, ignoring the foul look she got off Azimio.

But Azimio wasn't dropping it. "Seriously, dude, what's going on? I don't think I've seen you this frowny since that time you accidently electrocuted yourself with your own suit."

"I'm gonna kill you." The threat came out a lot quieter than intended, which made it all the more intimidating. But Azimio just shrugged it off.

"Alright, alright. As long as you know, we, your best friends, are here to help if you need us."

"He's here to help. I'll probably just mock you." Santana plonked herself down beside Dave.

"Bitch."

"Yep." Santana quipped back, but she leaned against him in a sort of reassuring way anyway, nearly dropping Chinese food onto his lap. "You going to tell Auntie Tana what's up or will I have to drag it out of your brain with a psychic razor."

"Fine! Not that you can even do that." Santana shrugged and Dave sighed forlornly. "If you must know, it's not even about work. It's about a guy."

"And I'm out." Azimio said, practically running for the kitchen.

"Thanks for the support!" Dave shouted after him, then turned back to Santana. "So this is probably the reason I was so shit today. This guy, we had a great time. Sort of. We kind of got along really well but also I think we might really  _not_  get on."

Santana narrowed her eyes at him, "Wait, is this the guy I set you up with?"

"Yeah," Dave dumped some soy sauce onto his noodles before continuing, "Where did you say you found him again?"

"Friend of a friend." Santana brushed off the question without a second's hesitation, digging into her own food, "Anyway, what did he do?"

"He blew me off."

"...in a sexy or not sexy way?"

Dave raised his eyebrows at her with a pained and slightly embarrassed expression, "Both?"

"Oh. Ouch." She looked away and twirled a few noodles, with an expression of pity that Dave didn't see very often from her.

Dave sighed, "And now I'm really pissed at him and I sort of want to call the whole thing off but I don't even know if that's what I want. Ugh. I just want things to be simple." He was well aware that he sounded like a teenage girl, but it was Santana, so he didn't really mind. It was almost reassuring to know that she would be judging him no matter what he said or did, so he might as well do whatever he wanted.

"Well, go confront him!" Santana waved a shrimp at him in her chopstick, "Let him know you're pissed!"

Dave set down his chopsticks and stared at her, "You really think that's a good idea?"

"It's how I solve all my issues."

"Oh, yeah, and I always hear people talking about how you're such an easy person to get along with."

"Go fuck yourself, I'm delightful." She kicked Dave in what was probably meant to be a playful way, but it actually kind of hurt. "So, anyway, back to his dick."

"Back to– we weren't talking about his dick!"

"Was it good? I mean, penises are always gross, but was it at least big? What did he even look like, because Britt said that he was good looking  _usually,_  but what does that mean? Like, sometimes he's a troll?"

"And now  _I'm_  out." Dave got up and walked away. There were limits, and Dave did not want to think about Kurt's dick right now. It had been a good dick, in every form, of course, but that was beside the point.

"You're the worst gay best friend ever!" Santana shouted at him from across the room. Dave ignored her, and went to look for Azimio. At least  _he_  wouldn't ask any questions about dicks.

It was when he got to the kitchen that he saw the newspaper sitting on the counter.

* * *

 Jacob Ben Israel's article about Porcelain was, of course, completely damning.

'You've heard his name, but what do you  _really_  know about the hero who calls himself "Porcelain"? We can tell you; you know nothing. Porcelain is the master of secret identities, with the power to mimic everyone around him. And he uses his own powers to attain the abilities of other supers.

'"I'm interested in people's unique attributes," Porcelain reveals, and we know this to be true. Porcelain has made it very clear in his fights that he can mimic his opponents when he transforms into them. But when does this mimicry change from 'borrowing' to 'stealing'? "I can assimilate some powers without the need to transform into those people," Porcelain admits, "Permanent mimicry requires more intimate contact"

'We wonder if this "contact" extends to the supervillains Porcelain is rumored to have spent the night with. Is he simply having fun "connecting with people?" Or is he assimilating their powers too? More on Page 16!'

Kurt felt his lip curl reading the article, and when he turned to Page 16, it only got worse. It started with a detailed background on Sebastian Smythe and Kurt's alleged relationship with him, and continued on into allegations of the Agency and League staging fights in order to boost TV ratings. The slimy reporter ended by suggesting that both companies were superfluous money grabbers or some trash like that. Kurt had pretty much crumpled the newspaper up by then.

It was while Kurt was vividly picturing all the nasty ways he could murder Jacob Ben Israel that he got the call summoning him to Schue's office. He wasn't even on duty, he was just on standby in a rec room. But since he was always in uniform, it didn't matter, he headed straight there with a stomach full of butterflies. Had the rest of the team been summoned too? Was he in trouble? Did The General know about Dave?

He was greeted by Schue's secretary and wife, a redhead woman who Kurt now realized he knew nothing about. He assumed she was a sensor, like most of the people with desk jobs around here, but he'd never seen her working with any other the other sensors. His wonderings ceased quickly when she showed him into The General's office. Schue was smiling, but there was something unclear in his eyes. It looked almost like disappointment.

"I know you've heard a lot of congratulations about your mission yesterday, but I thought I'd give my own personal thank you." The General said, the smile still on his lips.

"Um, you're welcome?" Porcelain heard the uncertainty in his own voice and was ashamed of it. But then, he really didn't know why he was here.

"I think you have real potential in this company, Porcelain. By your very nature, you're adaptable. I can see you leading a squad someday, something much bigger than the team you're on now."

"Thank you, Sir." Porcelain replied, still not quite taking in what was being said to him.

"Now, I didn't want to bring this up in front of your team, but I noticed the other day that you aren't wearing regulation uniform. You do know that you're entitled to as many uniforms as you like, and that our team of tailors will hand craft them for you?"

Porcelain's eyes flicked down to his outfit, which was a dark teal today. He'd spent a long time trying to get the color right. "I know, sir. I just prefer to design my own outfits."

That made The General laugh for some reason. Porcelain couldn't tell if he was being mocked or not. "Well, you are welcome to submit your own designs, that's not a problem." Schue said, reassuringly.

"Yes, it's just that I have my own tailor who works with this specific material." Porcelain explained, trying not to seem either condescending or ungrateful. "It's designed to help in textile manipulation for someone like me who can alter what I'm wearing."

Schue nodded, understanding. "In that case, please feel free to let the tailors know what material you require and they will craft your suit in it."

"I…just…"

He was cut off by Schue, "It's not about regulation, Porcelain. It's about unity. Being a part of something bigger than yourself. Do you understand?"

"I do." He wasn't sure he did. "Thank you, sir."

"Now, onto what I really wanted to talk to you about."

Porcelain felt the lump in his throat return. What could the General possibly want him for?

"I'm assuming you're aware of our regulations regarding fraternizing with members of the League of Doom?"

In that moment, Porcelain felt like he'd been dunked in ice water. He desperately tried to swallow the lump in his throat. "I'm aware of it." His voice came out at a higher pitch than he was comfortable with. He always seemed to revert to his natural voice a little when he got nervous.

"I have concerns. Now, I don't want to have to do anything…drastic. I think a warning will suffice." The General smiled softly. "But first, I think some truth is in order."

"Sir, if you just hear me out-"

"What exactly do you know about the relationship between Brittany and the villain known as Snixx?"

Porcelain nearly choked on nothing. This wasn't about him and The Fury? It was about Brittany?

He stared at The General, completely nonplussed. "I…I had no idea." He said, truthfully. He had talked to Brittany before about her love life but she'd never mentioned dating  _Snixx._

The General surveyed him carefully. Porcelain was suddenly very aware of every muscle in his face. "She is your friend, correct?"

Porcelain nodded, a little too frantically. "Yes, I just…I knew she was dating someone but…I didn't realise…"

The General cut him off, "Well, in that case, don't worry. I appreciate your honesty, Porcelain."

Porcelain got the feeling that he was no longer of any use to his boss. He nodded and was waved off.

"Thank you, sir." He wasn't sure what he was thanking him for, or whether he should be thanking him at all.

* * *

 After his shitstorm of a day, Kurt was near the brink of his tolerance. So, of course, Dave was waiting for him in his living room.

"Jesus, Dave, how the hell did you get in here?" Kurt hissed, slipping in and slamming the door behind him. "I could have been followed back by cams! What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"I did an area sweep, I'm not a fucking idiot!" Dave bit back immediately. "And believe me, I don't want to be here either!"

"Well then, feel free to show yourself out, I'm assuming you know where the door is since you broke in!"

For a moment, Dave said nothing. Kurt could tell that he had plenty that he wanted to say, but it was a little while until he actually spoke. "I had no idea how much of a bitch you really were." He said, quietly and with a tone that had almost as much sadness as it did anger.

"I've never pretended to be anything else."

Dave scoffed, but he couldn't bring himself to even smile, "Don't give me that bullshit, you're always pretending."

"I really don't need this right now, Dave."

"Well,  _Kurt,_  maybe you should fucking  _handcuff_  me again and leave me behind!"

"You're actually pissed off about that?"

"I'm pissed off about  _this!"_  He slammed the newspaper down on Kurt's table. On the front page, the picture of the two of them fighting seemed to mock them.

"What, you're annoyed they think we're staging fights?" Kurt knew very well that wasn't what Dave was talking about.

"Oh come on, Kurt. I wasn't looking for much in this; you know I'm down for this being all fun and games. All I ask is that you at least pretend I'm not some warm body for you to use and abandon the second you get bored."

"Yeah, well maybe that's what you are to me! That's what you think I am, right? Some floozy man-whore with no feelings? Because that's me! I just sleep my way around every superperson in McKinleyopolis,  _begging_  for a slice of their powers."

Dave's expression shifted. He made a soft tutting sound with his tongue. "Well, I'm so sorry you won't get anything from me."

"Yeah, if only you had some power for me to steal. I guess you're worthless to me." Kurt knew that would hurt but his hands were already shaking with rage and he couldn't predict what he was going to do or say next.

"I could bathe in radioactive waste if you really want. Would that make you happy?"

Kurt sneered. "Only if it  _mutated_ you into something horrible! Though I'm not sure how your face could get any  _worse!"_

Dave's hand slammed on something, making a loud noise, but Kurt didn't even flinch. Dave took a step towards him, and Kurt was sure he was going to hit him, but he just drew a deep breath. "Oh, fuck you! At least I'm not ashamed to show my face. You pretend to be so fucking proud but you can't even look yourself in the fucking  _mirror!"_

And that was it. Kurt felt like he'd been punched and neither of them had even resorted to violence. He stared at Dave through stinging eyes, and was thankful once again that he was able to control himself enough to hold back tears.

"You know what, I'm through!" Kurt said, "This isn't worth it, I'm not going to waste my time arguing for the sake of sex."

Dave paused for a moment, as if considering whether to fight for them or not. "You're right," he finally spoke quietly. "It's not worth it. I was a fucking idiot to think this could be about more than sex to someone like you."

"Of course it's not about more than sex. What, did you think this was  _going_  somewhere? Get real, Dave! This was never going to go anywhere!"

Dave flinched, moving back like someone had slapped him. His mouth snapped shut, and he blinked slowly for a few seconds before sighing. "I guess the article was right about you after all. All you do is  _use_  people. You have no idea how to actually care about someone, do you?"

"No, I don't. And if I was going to care about anyone, it wouldn't be you."

Dave gave a soft laugh, though it wasn't a joyful one, "You know, for a Good Guy, your personality is all villain."

"I guess that makes you the hero." Kurt sneered, still desperately willing himself not to cry. He wasn't going to give Dave that.

Dave just shook his head and walked towards the door. Kurt could swear he heard him say something as he left, but he wasn't sure. If he had to guess, he's say it sounded like, "I'm no hero."


End file.
